Archdruid: Peace be with.... atchoo!
All: And right back.... atchoo!
Archdruid: Let us join in the Psniffly Psalm.
All: Oh how many are my sneezes
My hanky is soaked through
All day long my eyes are itching
And my nose is tickling.
My eyes are red from rubbing
And my nose is like unto the tomato that grows in the valley of Sharon.
I gaze out on the world through fuzzy lenses
And wear dark glasses all the time.
Oh give unto me the unction that is call-ed Vaseline!
That I might smear some on my nasal philtrum.
There may it rest all the day
Sticking onto any pollen grains that are headed for my schnozz.
Even though I sit in the dark of a curtained room
Yet pollen is always with me
Its spiky alien beauty entrances me under a microscope
But not so much when it's up my nose.
Archdruid: Care for an antihistamine?
All: Don't mind if I.... atchoo!
* A word of uncertain meaning, which may be an instruction to the musicians.