With eatables you've nearly filled my kitchen.
Ah, little ones! you've learned the better part.
They are the poor who lack the kindly heart;
And they the rich, the noble, and the high,
Who never willing pass the sufferer by.
Now comes my triumph. Children, speak up bright:
What day is this?
All. Christmas.
Little Girl. No; 'tis Christmas night!
Santa. That's true. Now tell me who, against the laws,