“I am the real St. Clement, the first founder of brass, iron, and steel, from the ore. I have been to Mount Etna, where the god Vulcan first built his forge, and forged the armour and thunderbolts for the god Jupiter. I have been through the deserts of Arabia; through Asia, Africa, and America; through the city of Pongrove, through the town of Tipmingo, and all the northern parts of Scotland. I arrived in London on the 23rd of November, and came down to his Majesty’s dockyard at Woolwich to see how all the gentlemen Vulcans came on there. I found them all hard at work, and wish to leave them well on the twenty-fourth.”
The mate then subjoins:
“Come all you Vulcans stout and strong,
Unto St. Clem we do belong;
I know this house is well prepared
With plenty of money and good strong beer;
And we must drink before we part,
All for to cheer each merry heart.
Come all you Vulcans, strong and stout,
Unto St. Clem I pray turn out;
For now St. Clem’s going round the town,
His coach-and-six goes merrily round.
Huzza—a—a.”
After having gone round the town and collected a pretty decent sum, they retire to some public-house, where they enjoy as good a supper as the money collected will allow.
Staffordshire.
On the feast of St. Clement, a custom exists in Staffordshire for the children to go round to the various houses in the village to which they belong singing the following doggerel:
“Clemany! Clemany! Clemany mine!
A good red apple and a pint of wine,
Some of your mutton and some of your veal,
If it is good, pray give me a deal;
If it is not, pray give me some salt.
Butler, butler, fill your bowl;
If thou fillst it of the best,
The Lord’ll send your soul to rest;
If thou fillst it of the small,
Down goes butler, bowl and all.
Pray, good mistress, send to me
One for Peter, one for Paul,
One for Him who made us all:
Apple, pear, plum, or cherry,
Any good thing to make us merry;
A bouncing buck and a velvet chair,
Clement comes but once a year;
Off with the pot and on with the pan,
A good red apple and I’ll be gone.”
N. & Q. 1st. S. vol. viii. p. 618.
The following rhyme is also sung:
“Clemeny, Clemeny, God be wi’ you,
Christmas comes but once a ye-ar;
When it comes, it will soon be gone,
Give me an apple, and I’ll be gone.”