Classic Poem

I will not hear of Christmasse Cheer
Nor Christmasse Bells a-ringing!
A Christmasse Tree I loathe to see,
I'm deaf to Carol-singing.

I will not troll ye Wassail Bowl!
I love no strong Potations,
Nor Yule that brings ye Gatherings
Of Nondescript Relations.

Forbeare to show ye Mistletoe!
All Proper Men disdain it;
Ye Prettie Maid wolde scorn its Aid,
Ye Plaine One sholde not gain it.

Give Pause, give Pause to Santa Claus!
His Course is trulie shocking;
I understand he has a Hande
In Everybodie's Stocking!

Yet, void of Shame, they praise his Name
In Reams of idle Verses,
And call him kind that leaves behind
A Trail of emptie Purses.

Sharp Sorrows lie in Christmasse Pie
Which treble when they heat it.
I have no Use for Christmasse Goose
Nor Cannibals that eat it.

For Ills and Pills and Doctor's Bills
Are scarce a Cause for Laughter;
Ye Tables groan before ye Feaste,
Ye Feasters groan thereafter.