Liz's blue tit flutters down from the rafters and lands on Mrs. Clause's hat.

Carolling voices are heard outside the northern door, their feet crunching in the snow. Their choice of song is nontraditional.


My mistress is a shuttlecock composed of cork and feathers
Each battledore sits on her deck and bumps her on the leather,
But cast her off which way you will, she recoils to another still
Fa la la la la la la la la la la la la la.

My mistress is a tennis ball composed of cotton fine,
She's often struck against the wall and banded underline,
But if you would her wish fulfil You'd pop her in the hazard still,
Fa la la la la la la la la la la la la la.

My mistress is a virginal, and little cost will string her
She's often reared against the wall for any man to finger,
But if you would my mistress please you'd run division on her keys
Fa la la la la la la la la la la la la la.

My mistress is a cunny fine and of the finest skin
And if you'd care to open her the best part lies within,
Yet in her cunny burrow may two tumblers and a ferret play
Fa la la la la la la la la la la la la la.

My mistress is a tinder box, would I had such a one,
Her steel endureth many a knock both by the flint and stone,
And if you stir the tinder much the match will fire at the touch
Fa la la la la la la la la la la la la la.

But why should I my mistress call a shuttlecock or bauble,
A virginal, or tennis ball? Which things are variable,
But to commend I'll say no more: my mistress is an arrant whore
Fa la la la la la la la la la la la la la.