'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the ale-house
Not a poster was stirring, not even Chico;
The threads were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that investment soon would be there;
The posters were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of pasties danced in their heads;
And Danny in his 'kerchief, and Dylan in his cap,
Had just settled their brains for a long winter's nap,
When out on the forum there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a ghost,
Clicked on NewPosts and threw up the post.
The moon on the breast (snigger) of the new-fallen snow
Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below,
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature limo, and eight sexy guys,
With a little old driver, so lively and shrill,
I knew in a moment it must be Saint Bill.
More rapid than eagles his soundbites they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;
"Now, Pienaar! now, Osman! now, Jags and Felli!
On, Cahill! on, Neville! on, Distin and Bainesy!
To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!
Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!"
As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky;
So up to the house-top the players they flew,
With the limo full of cash, and St. Kenwright too.
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The prancing and pawing of each little stud.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Down the chimney St. Bill came with a bound.
He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot;
A bundle of money he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a peddler just opening his pack.
His eyes -- how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow
And the egg on his chin was as white as the snow;
The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath;
He had a broad face and a little round belly,
That shook when he laughed, like a bowlful of jelly.
He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself;
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know I had everything to dread;
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And emptied all the stockings; then turned with a jerk,
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose;
He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle,
But I heard him exclaim, as he drove out of sight,
"Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night."
Not a poster was stirring, not even Chico;
The threads were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that investment soon would be there;
The posters were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of pasties danced in their heads;
And Danny in his 'kerchief, and Dylan in his cap,
Had just settled their brains for a long winter's nap,
When out on the forum there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a ghost,
Clicked on NewPosts and threw up the post.
The moon on the breast (snigger) of the new-fallen snow
Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below,
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature limo, and eight sexy guys,
With a little old driver, so lively and shrill,
I knew in a moment it must be Saint Bill.
More rapid than eagles his soundbites they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;
"Now, Pienaar! now, Osman! now, Jags and Felli!
On, Cahill! on, Neville! on, Distin and Bainesy!
To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!
Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!"
As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky;
So up to the house-top the players they flew,
With the limo full of cash, and St. Kenwright too.
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The prancing and pawing of each little stud.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Down the chimney St. Bill came with a bound.
He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot;
A bundle of money he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a peddler just opening his pack.
His eyes -- how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow
And the egg on his chin was as white as the snow;
The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath;
He had a broad face and a little round belly,
That shook when he laughed, like a bowlful of jelly.
He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself;
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know I had everything to dread;
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And emptied all the stockings; then turned with a jerk,
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose;
He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle,
But I heard him exclaim, as he drove out of sight,
"Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night."
Last edited:
