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Last, for December, houses on the plain,
Ground-floors to live in, logs heaped mountain-high,
And carpets stretched, and newest games to try,
And torches lit, and gifts from man to man
(Your host, a drunkard and a Catalan);
And whole dead pigs, and cunning cooks to ply
Each throat with tit-bits that shall satisfy;
And wine-butts of Saint Galganus' brave span.
And be your coats well-lined and tightly bound,
And wrap yourselves in cloaks of strength and weight,
With gallant hoods to put your faces through.
And make your game of abject vagabond
Abandoned miserable reprobate
Misers; don't let them have a chance with you.

Di Decembre

E di decembre una città en piano
Sale terrene, grandissimi fochi,
Tappedi tesi, tavolieri e giochi,
Torticci accesi, e star co' dati en mano;
E l'oste enbriaco é catellano,
E porci morti e fenissimi cochi,
Ghiotti morselli, ciascun bea e mandochi,
Le botte sian maggior che san Galgano.
E siate ben vestiti e foderati
Di guarnacche, tabarri e di mantelli,
E di cappucci fini e smisurati;
E beffe far dei tristi cattivelli,
De' miseri dolenti sciagurati;
Avari, non voglate usar con elli.