  Wassail! Wassail! all over the town, Our bread it is white, our ale it is brown; Our bowl is made of a maplin tree; We be good fellows all;—I drink to thee. Here’s to our horse, and to his right ear, God send master a happy new year; A happy new year as ever he did see,— With my wassail bowl I drink to thee. Here’s to our mare, and to her right eye, God send our mistress a good Christmas pie; A good Christmas pie as e’er I did see,— With my wassailing bowl I drink to thee. Here’s to our cow, and to her long tail, God send our master us never may fail Of a cup of good beer: I pray you draw near, And our jolly wassail it’s then you shall hear. Be here any maids? I suppose here be some; Sure they will not let young men stand on the cold stone! Sing hey, O, maids! come trole back the pin, And the fairest maid in the house let us all in. Come, butler, come, bring us a bowl of the best; I hope your souls in heaven will rest; But if you do bring us a bowl of the small, Then, down fall butler, and bowl and all. |
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