  Old Carol. WASSAIL.Give way, give way, ye gates, and win An easy blessing to your bin And basket, by our entering in. May both with manchet Your larders, too, so hung with meat, That though a thousand thousand eat, Yet ere twelve moons shall whirl about Their silvery spheres, there's none may doubt But more's sent in than was served out. Next, may your dairies prosper so As that your pans no ebb may know; But if they do, the more to flow, Like to a solemn, sober stream, Banked all with lilies, and the cream Of sweetest cowslips filling them. Then may your plants be pressed with fruit, Nor bee or hive you have be mute, But sweetly sounding like a lute. Your stacks, your stocks, your sweetest mows, All prosper by your virgin vows. Alas! we bless, but see none here, That brings us either ale or beer; In a dry house all things are near. Let's leave a longer time to wait, Where rust and cobwebs bind the gate; And all live here with needy fate; Where chimneys do forever weep For want of warmth, and stomachs keep With noise the servants' eyes from sleep. It is in vain to sing or stay Our free feet here, but we'll away; Yet to the Lares this we'll say: The time will come when you'll be sad, And reckon this for fortune bad, T' have lost the good ye might have had. Robert Herrick. FOOTNOTE:INVITATION À FAIRE NOËL.(FROM THE FRENCH OF THE TWELFTH CENTURY.)Hail, good Masters, let us bide, Hither come from travel wide, This Christmas-tide. Hearken, give us bed and cheer, We are weary, life is dear This day o' the year! God send ye joy and peace on earth, Who broach good cheer for ChristÉ's birth. Masters, an ye make no feast: SpicÉd ale and meat of beast, Nor laugh the least: If ye fill not pantries high With bread, and fish, and mammoth pie, And sweets, pardie!— God ordains no peace on earth To ye who fast at ChristÉ's birth. Masters, it is writ of old Who fill the fire for Christmas cold And wassail hold, Shall have of food a double store And ruddy-blazing ingle roar Forevermore. To men who carol ChristÉ's birth. O Masters! let nor hate nor spite Mar the tongue of any wight 'Twixt night and night. Botun, batun—belabor well Churls who sleep through matin bell And no soothe tell. God will forfeit peace on earth If men fall out at ChristÉ's birth. Christmas tipples every wine, English, French, and Gascon fine And Angevine; Clinks with neighbor and with guest, Empties casks with gibe and jest— The year's for rest! God sends to men the joy of earth Who broach good cheer for ChristÉ's birth. But hearken, Masters, ere ye drink While yet the bubbles boil and wink At the brink; Ere ye lift the pot aloft, Merrily wave it, laughing oft, With hood well doft. And if I cry ye, sad, "Wesseyl!" Woe's him who answers not "Drinchayl!" Translated by H. S. M. A THANKSGIVING.Lord, I confess too, when I dine, The pulse is Thine, And all those other bits that be There placed by Thee; The worts, the purslane, and the mess Of water-cress, Which of Thy kindness Thou hast sent; And my content Makes those and my belovÉd beet To be more sweet. 'Tis Thou that crown'st my glittering hearth With guiltless mirth, And giv'st me wassail-bowls to drink Spiced to the brink. Robert Herrick. AROUND THE WASSAIL-BOWL.A jolly wassail-bowl, A wassail of good ale; Well fare the butler's soul That setteth this to sale; Our jolly wassail. Good dame, here at your door Our wassail we begin, We are all maidens poor, We pray now let us in With our wassail. Our wassail we do fill With apples and with spice, Then grant us your good-will To taste here once or twice Of our good wassail. If any maidens be Here dwelling in this house, They kindly will agree To take a full carouse Of our wassail. All freezing in the cold: Good master, give command To enter and be bold, With our wassail. Much joy into this hall With us is entered in, Our master first of all We hope will now begin Of our wassail. And after, his good wife Our spicÉd bowl will try; The Lord prolong your life! Good fortune we espy For our wassail. Some bounty from your hands Our wassail to maintain; We'll buy no house nor lands With that which we do gain With our wassail. This is our merry night Of choosing king and queen; Then be it your delight That something may be seen In our wassail. To bear a liberal mind; God bless our master's heart! For here we comfort find With our wassail. And now we must be gone To seek out more good cheer, Where bounty will be shown As we have found it here With our wassail. Much joy betide them all, Our prayer shall be still, We hope and ever shall For this your great good-will To our wassail. FROM DOOR TO DOOR.Here we come a wassailing Among the leaves so green, Here we come a wand'ring, So fair to be seen. Love and joy come to you, And to you your wassail too, And God bless you and send you a happy New Year. Our wassail-cup is made Of the rosemary tree, And so is your beer Of the best barley. Love and joy, etc. We are not daily beggars That beg from door to door, But we are neighbors' children Whom you have seen before. Love and joy, etc. Good master and good mistress, As you sit by the fire, Pray think of us poor children As wand'ring in the mire. Love and joy, etc. Made of ratching leather skin; We want some of your small change To line it well within. Love and joy, etc. Call up the butler of this house, Put on his golden ring; Let him bring us a glass of beer, And the better we shall sing. Love and joy, etc. Bring us out a table, And spread it with a cloth; Bring us out a mouldy cheese, And some of your Christmas loaf. Love and joy, etc. God bless the master of this house, Likewise the mistress too And all the little children That round the table go. Love and joy, etc. WASSAILING CAROL.We wish you merry Christmas, also a glad New Year; We come to bring you tidings to all mankind so dear: We come to tell that Jesus was born in Bethl'em town, And now He's gone to glory and pityingly looks down On us poor wassailers, As wassailing we go; With footsteps sore From door to door We trudge through sleet and snow. A manger was His cradle, the straw it was His bed, The oxen were around Him within that lowly shed; No servants waited on Him with lords and ladies gay; But now He's gone to glory and unto Him we pray. Us poor wassailers, etc. And good old Joseph watched them both the while they took their rest; And wicked Herod vainly sought to rob them of their child, By slaughtering the Innocents in Bethlehem undefiled. But us poor wassailers, etc. Now, all good Christian people, with great concern we sing These tidings of your Jesus, the Saviour, Lord and King; In poverty He passed His days that riches we might share, And of your wealth He bids you give and of your portion spare To us poor wassailers, etc. Your wife shall be a fruitful vine, a hus'sif good and able; Your children like the olive branches round about your table; Your barns shall burst with plenty and your crops shall be secure, If you will give your charity to us who are so poor, Us poor wassailers, etc. And we must trudge and sing our song at many another gate; And so we'll wish you once again a merry Christmas time, And pray God bless you while you give good silver for our rhyme. Us poor wassailers, etc. A CAROL AT THE GATES.Here we come a-whistling through the fields so green; Here we come a-singing, so fair to be seen. God send you happy, God send you happy, Pray God send you a happy New Year! The roads are very dirty, my boots are very thin, I have a little pocket to put a penny in. God send you happy, etc. Bring out your little table and spread it with a cloth, Bring out some of your old ale, likewise your Christmas loaf. God send you happy, etc. God bless the master of this house, likewise the mistress, too, And all the little children that round the table strew. God send you happy, etc. I wish you a merry Christmas, and a good fat pig in the sty. God send you happy, etc. WANDERING WASSAILERS.Wassail, wassail, all over the town, Our bread it is white, and our ale it is brown; Our bowl it is made of the maplin tree, So here, my good fellow, I'll drink it to thee. The wassailing bowl, with a toast within, Come, fill it up unto the brim; Come fill it up that we may all see; With the wassailing bowl I'll drink to thee. Come, butler, come bring us a bowl of your best, And we hope your soul in heaven shall rest; But if you do bring us a bowl of your small, Then down shall go butler, the bowl, and all. O butler, O butler, now don't you be worst, But pull out your knife and cut us a toast; And cut us a toast, one that we may all see; With the wassailing bowl I'll drink to thee. Here's to Dobbin and to his right eye! God send our mistress a good Christmas-pie! A good Christmas-pie as e'er we did see; With the wassailing bowl I'll drink to thee. God send our master a good crop of corn, A good crop of corn as we all may see; With the wassailing bowl I'll drink to thee. Here's to Colly and to her long tail, We hope our master and mistress heart will ne'er fail; But bring us a bowl of your good strong beer, And then we shall taste of your happy New Year. Be there here any pretty maids? we hope there be some; Don't let the jolly wassailers stand on the cold stone, But open the door and pull out the pin, That we jolly wassailers may all sail in. Chappell's Ancient English Melodies. BRING US IN GOOD ALE.Bring us in good ale, and bring us in good ale; For our blessed Lady's sake, bring us in good ale. Bring us in no brown bread, for that is made of bran, Nor bring us in no white bread, for therein is no game, But bring us in good ale. Bring us in no beef, for there are many bones, But bring us in good ale, for that goeth down at once; And bring us in good ale. Bring us in no bacon, for that is passing fat, But bring us in good ale, and give us enough of that; And bring us in good ale. Bring us in no mutton, for that is often lean, Nor bring us in no tripes, for they be seldom clean; But bring us in good ale. But bring us in good ale, and give us nothing else; And bring us in good ale. Bring us in no butter, for therein are many hairs, Nor bring us in no pig's flesh, for that will make us boars; But bring us in good ale. Bring us in no puddings, for therein is all God's good, Nor bring us in no venison, for that is not for our blood; But bring us in good ale. Bring us in no capon's flesh, for that is often dear, Nor bring us in no duck's flesh, for they slobber in the mere; But bring us in good ale. Wright's Songs and Carols. ABOUT THE BOARD.Come bravely on, my masters, For here we shall be tasters Of curious dishes that are brave and fine, Where they that do such cheer afford, I'll lay my knife upon the board, My master and my dame they do not pine. Who is't will not be merry And sing down, down, aderry? For now it is a time of joy and mirth; 'Tis said 'tis merry in the hall When as beards they do wag all; God's plenty's here, it doth not show a dearth. Let him take all lives longest, Come fill us of the strongest, And I will drink a health to honest John; Come, pray thee, butler, fill the bowl, And let it round the table troll, When that is up, I'll tell you more anon. New Christmas Carols, A.D. 1642. BEFORE THE FEAST.All you that are good fellows, Come hearken to my song; I know you do not hate good cheer Nor liquor that is strong. I hope there is none here But soon will take my part, Seeing my master and my dame Say welcome with their heart. This is a time of joyfulness And merry time of year, Whereas the rich with plenty stored Doth make the poor good cheer; Plum-porridge, roast-beef, and minced-pies Stand smoking on the board, With other brave varieties Our master doth afford. Our mistress and her cleanly maids Have neatly played the cooks; Methinks these dishes eagerly At my sharp stomach looks, As though they were afraid To see me draw my blade; But I revenged on them will be Until my stomach's stayed. Small drink is out of date; Methinks I shall fare like a prince And sit in gallant state: This is no miser's feast, Although that things be dear; God grant the founder of this feast Each Christmas keep good cheer. This day for Christ we celebrate, Who was born at this time; For which all Christians should rejoice, And I do sing in rhyme. When you have given God thanks, Unto your dainties fall: Heaven bless my master and my dame, Lord bless me and you all. New Christmas Carols, A.D. 1642. A BILL OF CHRISTMAS FARE.Come, mad boys, be glad, boys, for Christmas is here, And we shall be feasted with jolly good cheer; Then let us be merry, 'tis Saint Stephen's day, Let's eat and drink freely, here's nothing to pay. My master bids welcome, and so doth my dame, And 'tis yonder smoking dish doth me inflame; Anon I'll be with you, though you me outface, For now I do tell you I have time and place. I'll troll the bowl to you, then let it go round, My heels are so light they can stand on no ground; My tongue it doth chatter, and goes pitter patter, Here's good beer and strong beer, for I will not flatter. And now for remembrance of blessed Saint Stephen, Let's joy at morning, at noon, and at even; Then leave off your mincing, and fall to mince-pies, I pray take my counsel, be ruled by the wise. New Christmas Carols, A.D. 1642. THE MAHOGANY-TREE.Christmas is here: Winds whistle shrill, Icy and chill, Little care we: Little we fear Weather without Sheltered about The Mahogany-Tree. Once on the boughs Birds of rare plume Sang, in its bloom; Night-birds are we: Here we carouse, Singing like them, Perched round the stem Of the jolly old tree. Here let us sport, Boys, as we sit; Laughter and wit Flashing so free, Life is but short— When we are gone, Round the old tree. Evenings we knew, Happy as this; Faces we miss, Pleasant to see, Kind hearts and true, Gentle and just, Peace to your dust, We sing round the tree. Care, like a dun, Lurks at the gate: Let the dog wait; Happy we'll be! Drink, every one; Pile up the coals, Fill the red bowls, Round the old tree! Drain we the cup— Friend, art afraid? Spirits are laid In the Red Sea. Mantle it up; Empty it yet; Let us forget, Round the old tree. Life and its ills, Duns and their bills, Bid we to flee. Come with the dawn, Blue-devil sprite, Leave us to-night Round the old tree. William Makepeace Thackeray. A CHRISTMAS CEREMONY.Wassail the trees, that they may bear You many a plum and many a pear; For more or less fruits they will bring As you do give them wassailing. Robert Herrick. WITH CAKES AND ALE.With cakes and ale, and antic ring Well tiptoed to the tabor string, And many a buss below the holly, And flout at sable melancholy— So, with a rouse, went Christmassing! What! are no latter waits to sing? No clog to blaze? No wit to wing? Are catches gone, and dimpled Dolly, With cakes and ale? Nay, an you will, behold the thing: The spicÉd meat, the minstreling! Undo Misrule, and many a volley Of losel snatches born of folly— Bring back the cheer, be Christmas-king, With cakes and ale! H. S. M. THE MASQUE OF CHRISTMAS.(AS IT WAS PRESENTED AT COURT, 1616.)The Court being seated, Enter Christmas, with two or three of the guard, attired in round hose, long stockings, a close doublet, a high-crowned hat, with a brooch, a long, thin beard, a truncheon, little ruffs, white shoes, his scarfs and garters tied cross, and his drum beaten before him. Why, gentlemen, do you know what you do? ha! would you have kept me out? Christmas, old Christmas, Christmas of London, and Captain Christmas? Pray you, let me be brought before my lord chamberlain, I'll not be answered else: 'Tis merry in hall, when beards wag all: I have seen the time you have wish'd for me for a merry Christmas; and now you have me, they would not let me in: I must come another time! a good jest, as if I could come more than once a year! Why, I am no dangerous person, and so I told my friends of the guard. I am old Gregory Christmas still, and though I come out of Pope's-head alley, as good a Protestant as any in my parish. The truth is, I have brought a Masque here, out o' the city, of my own making, and do present it by a set of my Enter his Sons and Daughters, (ten in number,) led in, in a string, by Cupid, who is attired in a flat cap, and a prentice's coat, with wings at his shoulders. Misrule, in a velvet cap, with a sprig, a short cloak, great yellow ruff, like a reveller, his torch-bearer bearing a rope, a cheese, and a basket. Carol, a long tawny coat, with a red cap, and a flute at his girdle, his torch-bearer carrying a song-book open. Minced-Pie, like a fine cook's wife, drest neat; her man carrying a pie, dish, and spoons. Gambol, like a tumbler, with a hoop and bells; his torch-bearer armed with a colt-staff, and a binding cloth. New-Year's-Gift, in a blue coat, serving-man like, with an orange, and a sprig of rosemary gilt on his head, his hat full of brooches, with a collar of ginger-bread, his torch-bearer carrying a march-pane with a bottle of wine on either arm. Mumming, in a masquing pied suit, with a vizard, his torch-bearer carrying the box, and ringing it. Wassel, like a neat sempster and songster; her page bearing a brown bowl, drest with ribands, and rosemary before her. Offering, in a short gown, with a porter's staff in his hand, a wyth born before him, and a bason, by his torch-bearer. Baby-Cake, drest like a boy, in a fine long coat, biggin-bib, muckender, and a little dagger; his usher bearing a great cake, with a bean and a pease. They enter singing. Now God preserve, as you do well deserve, Your majesties all, two there; Your highness small, with my good lords all, And ladies, how do you do there? Give me leave to ask, for I bring you a masque From little, little, little London; If not, old Christmas is undone. [Noise without. Chris. Ho, peace! what's the matter there? Gam. Here's one o' Friday-street would come in. Chris. By no means, nor out of neither of the Fish-streets, admit not a man; they are not Christmas creatures: fish and fasting days, foh! Sons, said I well? look to it. Gam. No body out o' Friday-street, nor the two Fish-streets there, do you hear? Car. Shall John Butter o' Milk-street come in? Ask him. Gam. Yes, he may slip in for a torch-bearer, so he melt not too fast, that he will last till the masque be done. Chris. Right, son. Our dance's freight is a matter of eight; And two, the which are wenches: In all they be ten, four cocks to a hen, And will swim to the tune like tenches. Each hath his knight for to carry his light, Which some would say are torches To bring them here, and to lead them there, And home again to their own porches.
Ven. Now, all the lords bless me! where am I, trow? where is Cupid? "Serve the king!" they may serve the cobbler well enough, some of 'em, for any courtesy they have, I wisse; they have need o' mending: unrude people they are, your courtiers; here was thrust upon thrust indeed: was it ever so hard to get in before, trow? Chris. How now? what's the matter? Ven. A place, forsooth, I do want a place: I would have a good place, to see my child act in before the king and queen's majesties, God bless 'em! to-night. Chris. Why, here is no place for you. Ven. Right, forsooth, I am Cupid's mother, Cupid's own mother, forsooth; yes, forsooth: I dwell in Pudding-lane: ay, forsooth, he is prentice in Love-lane, with a bugle maker, that makes of your bobs, and bird-bolts for ladies. Chris. Good lady Venus of Pudding-lane, you must go out for all this. Ven. Yes, forsooth, I can sit anywhere, so I may see Cupid act: he is a pretty child, though I say it, that perhaps should not, you will say. I had him by my first husband; he was a smith, Chris. No matter for your pedigree, your house: good Venus, will you depart? Ven. Ay, forsooth, he'll say his part, I warrant him, as well as e'er a play-boy of 'em all: I could have had money enough for him, an I would have been tempted, and have let him out by the week to the king's players. Master Burbage has been about and about with me, and so has old master Hemings, too, they have need of him; where is he, trow, ha! I would fain see him—pray God they have given him some drink since he came. Chris. Are you ready, boys? Strike up! nothing will drown this noise but a drum: a'peace, yet! I have not done. Sing,— Now their intent is above to present— Car. Why, here be half of the properties forgotten, father. Offer. Post and Pair wants his pur-chops and his pur-dogs. Car. Have you ne'er a son at the groom porter's, to beg or borrow a pair of cards quickly? Offer. Ods so! speak to the guards to let him in, under the name of a property. Gam. And here's New-Year's-Gift has an orange and rosemary, but not a clove to stick in't. New-Year. Why, let one go to the spicery. Chris. Fy, fy, fy! it's naught, it's naught, boys. Ven. Why, I have cloves, if it be cloves you want. I have cloves in my purse: I never go without one in my mouth. Car. And Mumming has not his vizard, neither. Chris. No matter! his own face shall serve, for a punishment, and 'tis bad enough; has Wassel her bowl, and Minced-pie her spoons? Offer. Ay, ay: but Misrule doth not like his suit: he says the players have sent him one too little, on purpose to disgrace him. Chris. Let him hold his peace, and his disgrace will be the less: what! shall we proclaim where we were furnish'd? Mum! mum! a'peace! be ready, good boys. Now their intent is above to present, With all the appurtenances, A right Christmas, as of old it was, To be gathered out of the dances. The queen, and prince, as it were now Drawn here by love; who over and above, Doth draw himself in the geer too. Here the drum and fife sound, and they march about once. In the second coming up, Christmas proceeds in his song: Ven. 'Tis a good child, speak out; hold up your head, Love. Cup. And which Cupid—and which Cupid— Ven. Do not shake so, Robin; if thou be'st a-cold, I have some warm waters for thee here. Chris. Come, you put Robin Cupid out with your water's and your fisling; will you be gone? Ven. Ay, forsooth, he's a child, you must conceive, and must be used tenderly; he was never in such an assembly before, forsooth, but once at the Warmoll Quest, forsooth, where he said grace as prettily as any of the sheriff's hinch-boys, forsooth. Chris. Will you peace, forsooth? Cup. And which Cupid—and which Cupid— Ven. Ay, that's a good boy, speak plain, Robin; how does his majesty like him, I pray? will he give eight-pence a day, think you? Speak out, Robin. Ven. You wrong the child, you do wrong the infant; I 'peal to his majesty. Here they dance. Chris. Well done, boys, my fine boys, my bully boys! THE EPILOGUE.Sings. Nor do you think that their legs is all The commendation of my sons, For at the Artillery garden they shall As well forsooth use their guns, And march as fine as the Muses nine, Along the streets of London; And in their brave tires, to give their false fires, Especially Tom my son. Now if the lanes and the allies afford Such an ac-ativity as this; At Christmas next, if they keep their word, Can the children of Cheapside miss? Though, put the case, when they come in place, They should not dance, but hop: Having so many knights o' the shop. But were I so wise, I might seem to advise So great a potentate as yourself; They should, sir, I tell ye, spare't out of their belly, And this way spend some of their pelf. Ay, and come to the court, for to make you some sport, At the least once every year, As Christmas hath done, with his seventh or eighth son, And his couple of daughters dear. And thus it ended. Ben Jonson. |
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