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.

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.

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.
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