AFTER ALFRED BUNN

WHEN other wits and other bards, Their tales at Christmas tell, Or praise on cheap and colored cards The time they love so well, Secure from scorn and ridicule I hope my verse may be, If I can still remember Yule, And Yule remember me. The days are dark, the days are drear, When dull December dies; But, while we mourn an ended year, Another's star will rise. I hail the season formed by rule For merriment and glee; So let me still remember Yule, And Yule remember me. The rich plum-pudding I enjoy, I greet the pie of mince; And loving both while yet a boy, Have loved them ever since. More dull were I than any mule That eyes did ever see, If I should not remember Yule, And Yule remember me. Anonymous.

WHEN other lips and other eyes Their tales of love shall tell, Which means the usual sort of lies You've heard from many a swell; When, bored with what you feel is bosh, You'd give the world to see A friend, whose love you know will wash, Oh, then remember me! When Signor Solo goes his tours, And Captain Craft's at Ryde, And Lord Fitzpop is on the moors, And Lord knows who besides; When to exist you feel a task Without a friend at tea, At such a moment I but ask That you'll remember me. J. R. Planché.