 | Small poems of Divers sorts |  |
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85. To Sir Francis Boteler, my brother in law, from Ashbourn.
How Christmas steals upon us, as in fearTo be oppos'd by the bold Presbyter!
And how you part from us against this Time,
As if you thought to meet it here a Crime!
But oh inevitable business! when
Old Christmas we meant to have trick'd agen,
In's long neglected usual Ornaments,
You have prevented it by going hence:
So your Departure we accuse to be
Guilty (by chance) of an Impietie;
Tom Hurt, Will Taylour, and my self shall mourn,
Till you recover our joy by your return.
| Small poems of Divers sorts | |