What Ho, My Jovial Mates ! Come on ! We'll Frolic It

WHAT ho, my jovial mates ! come on ! we'll frolic it
Like fairies frisking in the merry moonshine,
Seen by the curtal friar, who, from some christening,
Or some blithe bridal, hies belated cell-ward ;--
He starts, and changes his bold bottle swagger
To churchman's pace professional, and, ransacking
His treacherous memory for some holy hymn,
Finds but the roundel of the midnight catch.