  So now is come our joyfullest part; Let every man be jolly; Each room with ivy-leaves is dressed, And every post with holly. Though some churls at our mirth repine, Round your foreheads garlands twine, Drown sorrow in a cup of wine, And let us all be merry! Now all our neighbours' chimneys smoke, And Christmas-blocks are burning; Their ovens they with baked meat choke, And all their spits are turning. Without the door let sorrow lie; And, if for cold it hap to die, We'll bury it in a Christmas pie And evermore be merry! Rank misers now do sparing shun; Their hall of music soundeth; And dogs thence with whole shoulders run; So all things there aboundeth. The country folks themselves advance With crowdy-muttons out of France; And Jack shall pipe, and Jill shall dance, And all the town be merry! Good farmers in the country nurse The poor that else were undone; Some landlords spend their money worse, On lust and pride in London. There the roysters they do play, Drab and dice their lands away, Which may be ours another day, And therefore let's be merry! The client now his suit forbears; The prisoner's heart is easÈd; The debtor drinks away his cares, And for the time is pleasÈd. Though other's purses be more fat, Why should we pine or grieve at that? Hang sorrow! care will kill a cat, And therefore let's be merry! Hark! now the wags abroad do call Each other forth to rambling; Anon you'll see them in the hall, For nuts and apples scrambling. Anon they'll think the house goes round, For they the cellar's depth have found, And there they will be merry! The wenches with their wassail bowls About the streets are singing; The boys are come to catch the owls; The wild mare in is bringing; Our kitchen-boy hath broke his box; And to the dealing of the ox Our honest neighbours come by flocks, And here they will be merry! Now kings and queens poor sheep-cots have, And mate with everybody; The honest now may play the knave, And wise men play the noddy. Some youths will now a-mumming go, Some others play at Rowland-bo, And twenty other game, boys, mo, Because they will be merry! Then wherefore, in these merry days, Should we, I pray, be duller? No, let us sing some roundelays To make our mirth the fuller: And, while we thus inspirÈd sing, Let all the streets with echoes ring; Woods, and hills, and everything, Bear witness we are merry! |
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