AN Actor sits in doubtful gloom,His stockintrade unfurled,In a damp funereal dressingroom In the Theatre Royal,World.
He comes to town at Christmastime,And braves its icy breath,To play in that favourite pantomime,HARLEQUIN LIFE AND DEATH.
A hoary flowing wig his weird Unearthly cranium caps,He hangs a long benevolent beard On a pair of empty chaps.
To smooth his ghastly features down The actor's art he cribs,A long and a flowing padded gown.
Bedecks his rattling ribs.
He cries,"Go on begin,begin!
Turn on the light of lime
I'm dressed for jolly Old Christmas,in A favourite pantomime!"
The curtain's up the stage all black
Time and the year nigh sped
Time as an advertising quack
The Old Year nearly dead.
The wand of Time is waved,and lo!
Revealed Old Christmas stands,And little children chuckle and crow,And laugh and clap their hands.
The cruel old scoundrel brightens up At the death of the Olden Year,And he waves a gorgeous golden cup,And bids the world good cheer.
The little ones hail the festive King,
No thought can make them sad.