The Boy Who Laughed At Santa Claus
In Baltimore there lived a boy
He wasn’t anybody’s joy.
Although his name was Jabez Dawes,
His character was full of flaws.
In school he never led the classes.
He hid old ladies’ reading glasses.
His mouth was open while he chewed.
And elbows to the table glued.
He stole the milk of hungry kittens,
And walked through doors marked ‘No Admittance.’
He said he acted thus because
There wasn’t any Santa Claus.
Another trick that tickled Jabez
Was crying “Boo!” at little babies.
He brushed his teeth, they said in town,
Sideways instead of up and down.
Yet people pardoned every sin
And viewed his antics with a grin
Till they were told by Jabez Dawes,
“There isn’t any Santa Claus.”
Deploring how he did behave,
His parents quickly sought their grave.
They hurried through the portals pearly,
And Jabez left the funeral early.
Like whooping cough, from child to child,
He sped to spread the rumor wild:
“Sure as my name is Jabez Dawes
There isn’t any Santa Claus!”
Slunk like a weasel or a marten
Through nursery and kindergarten,
Whispering low to every tot,
“There isn’t any, no, there’s not!
No beard, no pipe, no scarlet clothes,
No twinkling eyes, no cherry nose.
No sleigh, and furthermore, by Jiminy,
Nobody coming down the chimney!”
The children wept all Christmas Eve
And Jabez chortled up his sleeve.
No infant dared to hang up his stocking
For fear of Jabez’ ribald mocking.
He sprawled on his untidy bed,
Fresh malice dancing in his head.
When presently with scalp a-tingling
Jabez heard a distant jingling.
He heard the crunch of sleigh and hoof
Crisply alighting on the roof.
What good to rise and bar the door.
A shower of soot was on the floor.
Jabez beheld, oh, awe of awes,
The fireplace full of Santa Claus!
Then Jabez fell upon his knees
With cries of, “Don’t,” and “Pretty please.”
He howled, “I don’t know where you read it.
I swear some other fellow said it!”
“Jabez,” replied the angry saint,
“It isn’t I, it’s you that ain’t.
Although there is a Santa Claus,
There isn’t any Jabez Dawes!”
Said Jabez then with impudent vim,
“Oh, yes, there is; and I am him!
Your language don’t scare me, it doesn’t -”
And suddenly he found he wasn’t!
From grinning teeth to unkempt locks
Jabez became a jack-in-the-box,
An ugly toy in Santa’s sack,
Mounting the flue on Santa’s back.
The neighbors heard his mournful squeal;
They searched for him, but not with zeal.
No trace was found of Jabez Dawes,
Which led to thunderous applause,
And people drank a loving cup
And went and hung their stockings up.
All you who sneer at Santa Claus,
Beware the fate of Jabez Dawes.
The saucy boy who told the saint off;
The child who got him licked his paint off.
By Ogden Nash
Frederick Ogden ‘Ogden’ Nash was born on 19 August 1902 in Rye, New York, United States of America. He was married to Frances Rider Leonard in 1931. He became a writer of humorous poetry. Frederick Ogden ‘Ogden’ Nash passed on at 68 years of age on 19 May 1971 and rests in North Hampton, New Hampshire, United States of America.
In Baltimore there lived a boy
He wasn’t anybody’s joy.
Although his name was Jabez Dawes,
His character was full of flaws.
In school he never led the classes.
He hid old ladies’ reading glasses.
His mouth was open while he chewed.
And elbows to the table glued.
He stole the milk of hungry kittens,
And walked through doors marked ‘No Admittance.’
He said he acted thus because
There wasn’t any Santa Claus.
Another trick that tickled Jabez
Was crying “Boo!” at little babies.
He brushed his teeth, they said in town,
Sideways instead of up and down.
Yet people pardoned every sin
And viewed his antics with a grin
Till they were told by Jabez Dawes,
“There isn’t any Santa Claus.”
Deploring how he did behave,
His parents quickly sought their grave.
They hurried through the portals pearly,
And Jabez left the funeral early.
Like whooping cough, from child to child,
He sped to spread the rumor wild:
“Sure as my name is Jabez Dawes
There isn’t any Santa Claus!”
Slunk like a weasel or a marten
Through nursery and kindergarten,
Whispering low to every tot,
“There isn’t any, no, there’s not!
No beard, no pipe, no scarlet clothes,
No twinkling eyes, no cherry nose.
No sleigh, and furthermore, by Jiminy,
Nobody coming down the chimney!”
The children wept all Christmas Eve
And Jabez chortled up his sleeve.
No infant dared to hang up his stocking
For fear of Jabez’ ribald mocking.
He sprawled on his untidy bed,
Fresh malice dancing in his head.
When presently with scalp a-tingling
Jabez heard a distant jingling.
He heard the crunch of sleigh and hoof
Crisply alighting on the roof.
What good to rise and bar the door.
A shower of soot was on the floor.
Jabez beheld, oh, awe of awes,
The fireplace full of Santa Claus!
Then Jabez fell upon his knees
With cries of, “Don’t,” and “Pretty please.”
He howled, “I don’t know where you read it.
I swear some other fellow said it!”
“Jabez,” replied the angry saint,
“It isn’t I, it’s you that ain’t.
Although there is a Santa Claus,
There isn’t any Jabez Dawes!”
Said Jabez then with impudent vim,
“Oh, yes, there is; and I am him!
Your language don’t scare me, it doesn’t -”
And suddenly he found he wasn’t!
From grinning teeth to unkempt locks
Jabez became a jack-in-the-box,
An ugly toy in Santa’s sack,
Mounting the flue on Santa’s back.
The neighbors heard his mournful squeal;
They searched for him, but not with zeal.
No trace was found of Jabez Dawes,
Which led to thunderous applause,
And people drank a loving cup
And went and hung their stockings up.
All you who sneer at Santa Claus,
Beware the fate of Jabez Dawes.
The saucy boy who told the saint off;
The child who got him licked his paint off.
By Ogden Nash
Frederick Ogden ‘Ogden’ Nash was born on 19 August 1902 in Rye, New York, United States of America. He was married to Frances Rider Leonard in 1931. He became a writer of humorous poetry. Frederick Ogden ‘Ogden’ Nash passed on at 68 years of age on 19 May 1971 and rests in North Hampton, New Hampshire, United States of America.
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