Good King Wenceslas went out,

While the snow was dropping,

Hoping he could do without

Lots of Christmas shopping.

Forth he went to Bloomingdales,

Saks and Bonwit Teller,

Not content with bargain sales

From an underseller.

 

"Hither, clerk, and wait on me— [repeat, ad lib.]

If thou know'st it telling;

Blankets I would buy of thee:

Hast thou any selling?

Let them be of virgin wool,

Scottish and idyllic;

Not of polyester full,

Nor of cheap acrylic."

 

"Here's a stylish coverlet—

Here's the latest bedding—

Here is what one Penthouse Pet

Brought to Hefner's wedding."

But the blankets she displayed

Made the Monarch fester:

All were of acrylic made,

Or of polyester.

 

"Sire, the night grows darker now,

And the store is closing.

What's your problem, anyhow?

I am nearly dozing.

Modern merchants haven't sold

Blankets that are woolen

Since King Henry, we are told,

Wasted poor Anne Bullen."

 

Every clerk in every store

(Female, male or neuter)

Swore that wool was sold no more—

Likewise, wood and pewter.

That's why Christmas merchandise

Kills you, if you let it.

Decent goods, at any price,

Don't exist.  Forget it!!