Till Christmas comes perchance, before
I shall another day secure;
If so, I'll go again.
Then, with what food he could procure,
He hurried through the Abbey door;
But oft looked back to make quite sure;
His fears were really vain.
Pray, angling reader, was it ne'er your fate,
When fish were biting to be short of bait?
Have you ne'er roked about in terra-firma