Anonymous British

Christmas Out Of Town

For many a winter in Billiter Lane My wife, Mrs. Brown, was ne'er heard to complain: At Christmas the family met there to dine On beef and plum-pudding, and turkey, and chine; Our bark has now taken a contrary heel, My wife has found Out that the sea is genteel; To Brighton we duly go scampering down For nobody now spends his Christmas in town. In Billiter Lane, at this mirth-moving time, The lamp-lighter brought us his annual rhyme; The tricks of Grimaldi were sure to be seen We carved a twelfth-cake, and we drew king and queen: Now we lodge on the Steine, in a bow-windowed box, That beckons up stairs every zephyr that knocks; The Sun hides his head, and the elements frown-- Still, nobody now spends his Christmas in town. At Brighton I'm stuck up in Lucombe's Loo-shop, Or walk upon bricks, till I'm ready to drop; Throw stones at an anchor,--look out for a skiff, Or view the chain pier from the top of the cliff; Till winds from all quarters oblige me to halt, With sand in my eyes, and my mouth full of salt: Yet, still, I am suffering with folks of renown-- For nobody now spends his Christmas in town. The wind gallops in at the full of the moon, And puffs up the carpet like Sadler's balloon: My drawing-room rug is besprinkled with soot, And there is not a lock in the house that will shut. At Mahomet's steam bath I lean on my cane, And mutter in secret,-- "Ah, Billiter Lane!" But would not express what I think for a crown-- For nobody now spends his Christmas in town. The duke and the earl are not cronies-of mine; His majesty never invites me to dine; The marquess don't speak when we meet on the pier; Which makes me suspect that I'm nobody here: If that be the case,-- why then -- welcome again Twelfth-cake and snap-dragon in Billiter Lane; Next winter I'll prove to my dear Mrs. Brown That Nobody now spends his Christmas in town.