Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, CHRISTMAS OUT OF TOWN, by JAMES SMITH (1775-1839)


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

CHRISTMAS OUT OF TOWN, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: For many a winter in billiter-lane
Last Line: That nobody now spends his christmas in town.
Subject(s): Christmas; London; Nativity, The


FOR many a winter in Billiter-lane
My wife, Mrs. Brown, was not 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.

Our register-stoves, and our crimson-baized doors,
Our weather-proof walls, and our carpeted floors,
Our casements well fitted to stem the North wind,
Our arm-chair and sofa, are all left behind.
We lodge on the Steine, in a bow-window'd box,
That beckons up-stairs every Zephyr that knocks;
The sun hides his head, and the elements frown --
But nobody now spends his Christmas in Town.

In Billiter-lane, at this mirth-moving time,
The lamplighter 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
These pastimes gave oil to Time's roundabout wheel,
Before we began to be growing genteel:
'Twas all very well for a cockney or clown,
But nobody now spends his Christmas in Town.

At Brighton I'm stuck up in Donaldson's 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 an eye full of sand and a mouth full of salt.
Yet still I am suffering with folks of renown,
For nobody now spends his Christmas in Town.

In gallop the winds, at the full of the moon,
And puff up my 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 murmur in secret -- "Oh, 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 no cronies of mine,
His Majesty never invites me to dine;
The Marquess won'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.





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