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154
THE "BAB" BALLADS.
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.
