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Contrary to the legend which said that the king made his charitable rounds barefooted, we have learned that it was the poor page that walked through the snow with unshod feet. Consequently the title of this song should be The Good Kings Wincing Slob.
Good King Wenceslas looked out, on the Feast of Stephen, When the snow lay round about, deep and crisp and even; Brightly shone the moon that night, tho' the frost was cruel, When a poor man came in sight, gath'ring winter fuel. "Hither, page, and stand by me, if thou know'st it, telling, "Bring me flesh, and bring me wine, bring me pine logs hither: "Sire, the night is darker now, and the wind blows stronger; In his master's steps he trod, where the snow lay dinted; |
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