To have one's kindred thus around;
And hear one's old paternal walls
With song, and dance, and mirth resound.
But, then, they've taken all the beds:
And lying on two chairs, oh! dear;
Up in a garret—where there's rats—
But Christmas comes but once a year.
The London gentlemen I met
At Drury-lane, when last in town,
Have writt'n to say, if all goes right,