And crackling fall from holly boughs, burnt-out
The candles on the Tree, soon will our hands
With these be full!
[He turns over and hums drowsily.]
Lob here, Lob there,
Lob everywhere!
Lob, sweep the hearth and mend the toys,
Lob, do the tasks of girls and boys,
Who would not be a Lob like me,
A merry Lob-lie-by-the-fire like me!