Text:
Father Christmas
In comes I old Father Christmas
In comes I to make the fun.
My hair is short my beard is long
And me hat's tied on with a leather throng.
A room a room brave gallants all
Give us all room to rhyme
And we'll show you some good activity
This merry Christmas time.
Activity of age activity of youth.
{Calls King George in.}
King George
In comes King George this noble knight
Who shed his blood for Britain's right.
What makes me carry this horrible weapon?
Because I fought many a hard battle at home and abroad
And if any man can conquer me
The French Captain Collier he shall be.
Bold Slasher
In comes a soldier stout and brave
Bold Slasher is my name,
With sword and buckle by my side
I'm sure to win the game.
I'll cut him I'll slash him as small as flies
And send him to the cookshop to make mince pies.
{They fight and down goes King George.}
Father Christmas
Doctor, Doctor, play thy part
King George is wounded in the heart
And pierced through the knee.
If a Doctor I could see
£1000 I'd freely give to he.
{Doctor rides in on one of the others.}
Father Christmas
Who my noble Doctor, who be you?
Doctor
I am a Doctor good
And with my hand can stop the blood,
Cure hard corns, soft corns,
Itch, stitch and palsy and gout,
And pains within and pains without,
And if the devil's in I can fetch him out.
{Doctor calls Jack Finney.}
Doctor
Hold my horse, Jack.
Jack
Will 'a kick?
Doctor
No.
Jack
Will 'a bite?
Doctor
No.
Jack
Will it take two men to hold him?
Doctor
No.
Jack
Hold him thyself then.
Doctor
What's that?
Jack
I've got fast hold of his tail.
Doctor
Bring my tooth drawing tackle.
Jack
Fetch him thyself.
Doctor
What's that?
Jack
Come in, Sir. {He draws a tooth}
And come in Sir again.
{Doctor shakes the Pill Box.}
Doctor
We'll give him a grill as is very certain.
Arise King George and fight again.
{King George fights again.}
Beelzebub
In comes I old Beelzebub
On my shoulder I carries my club
In me hand the dripping pan
Don't you think; I'm a jolly old man?
Fidler Wit
In comes I Fidler Wit
My head's so large, me wits so small
I've brought me fidler to please you all.
Toll-de-roll the tinder box
Father died the other night
And left me all his riches,
A wooden leg, a feather bed,
And a pair of leather breeches,
A coffee pot without a spout,
A jug without a handle,
A guinea pig without a wig,
And half a farthing candle.
Sing brothers sing.
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