Some time, far back, my Christmas fare
Was turkey and a chine,
With puddings made of things most rare,
And plenty of good wine.
When times grew worse, I then could dine
On goose or roasted pig;
Instead of wine, a glass of grog,
And dance the merry jig.
When still grown worse, I then could dine
On beef and pudding plain;
Instead of grog, some good strong beer--
Nor did I then complain.
But now my joy is turn'd to grief,
For Christmas day is here;
No turkey, chine, or goose, or beef,
No wine, no grog, no beer.
_Dec. 25, 1828_.
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