Abandon all toil ye who venture here,
Forsooth, a merry feast doth loometh near.
Rejoice, as friends from distant shores alight,
Fine crimson wine floweth in twelfth this night.
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Amidst this merriment, meat, veg doth grace,
A banquet fit for nobles, in this very space.
Nine Mens Morris, and a film or two,
Shall keep us joyous, till dawn's first dew.
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Forget thy vexations and thy disquiets,
And imbibe the mirth that this revel begets.
Come hither, all ye, and make merry,
For this celebration shall shed your dreary.