O yes, ’tis very pleasant, though I’m poor,
To hear the steeple make that merry din;
Except I wish one bell was at the door,
To ring new trousers in.
To be alive is very nice indeed,
Although another year at last departs;
Only with twelve new months I rather need
A dozen of new shirts.
Yes, yes, it’s very true, and very clear,
By way of compliment and common chat,
It’s very well to wish me a New Year,
But wish me a new hat!
WRITTEN UNDER THE FEAR OF BAILIFFS.
LAS! of all the noxious things
That wait upon the poor,
Most cruel is that Felon-Fear
That haunts the “Debtor’s Door!”
Saint Sepulchre’s begins to toll,
The Sheriffs seek the cell—
So I expect their officers,
And tremble at the bell!
I look for beer, and yet I quake
With fright at every tap;
And dread a double-knock, for oh!
I’ve not a single rap!