With Christmas mirth, and Christmas cheer,
My friends pray look not glummer;

With turkey, chine, and beef and beer,
You’re surely in good humor.

The folks on t’other side the wave,

Have beef as well as you, sirs;

Some chines, and turkeys too, they have,
And as they bake they brew, sirs.

What, tho’ your cannon raze their towns,
And tumble down their houses,

They’ll fight like devils — blood and ’oons,
For children and for spouses.

Another truth — nay, ’tis no boast,
Nor yet the lie o’ th’ day, sirs;

The saints on Massachusetts coast,
Gain if they run away, sirs.

For further than your bullets fly,

A common man may run, sirs,

And wheat will grow beneath the sky,
Where cannot reach a gun, sirs.

Then what are ships, and swords, and guns,
And men of bloody mind, sirs,

While, Parthian-like, who conquers runs,
Who loses, — stays behind, sirs.

Then rise my men, in merry mood,
Vote — con-tra-di-nem cente,

That five and five for ten are good,
And ten and ten make twenty.

Recall your ships, your troops recall,
Let friends each other nourish,

So shall old England rule the ball,
And George and freedom flourish.

“Let Britons, now sunk into tyrants and slaves!
Submit to be governed by fools and by knaves.
Not so will their kindred on this side the sea,
American Britons will ever be free.”