The Eve

‘Tis the season for an Eve of Christmas poem in iambic pentameter as it might have been delivered in elegantly ringing Elizabethan tones from the hallowed boards of the Globe Theater in late 16th century England. On stage, the Companions rise as the King raises his glass and exclaims

‘Tis Christmas Eve and midnight draws apace
We raise a bumpered glass to what’s to come
With joy upon each red and merry face
We count our fortune numbered by the sum
And so my friends I bid you all goodnight
And cast our slumbers deep upon our beds
To waken in the golden morning light
With trinities of angels in our heads
‘Tis Christmas morn and all the world awake
To celebrate the birth of Christ the King
Born of the Virgin and died for our sake
In praise of which the thrice-blest angels sing


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