When Christmas Day was drawing near,
To Cheer and make them Merry;
I Broach'd my humming Stout March Beer,
As brown as the Hawthorn Berry:
Of which there was not any lack,
I was my self the Donor;
'Twas fetch'd up in a Leathern Jack,
When I was, &c.
I never lay in Trades-mens Books,
For Gaudy Silks or Sattins;