This was a Festive Day and we call'd it the Christmas Feast of Shenington.
All that joined this day, and comes safe home,
Will stand a tip-toe when this day is nam'd,
And rouse him at the name of Shenington.
He that shall live this day, and see old age,
Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours,
Old men forget; yet all shall be forgot,
But he'll remember, with advantages,
What feast he did that day. Then shall our names,
Familiar in his mouth as household words -
Meagher, Furesdon and Gould,
Milligan, Le Maistre, and Wootton - and many others too
Be in their flowing cups freshly rememb'red.
This story shall the good man teach his son;
And a Christmas Feast of Shenington shall ne'er go by,
From this day to the ending of the world,
But we in it shall be remembered -
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
For he to-day that drank this toast with me
Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile,
This day shall gentle his condition;
And gentlemen in England now-a-bed
Shall think themselves accurs'd they could not join,
And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks
That dined with us upon that Festive Day.