XLIV. [From "New Carolls for this Mery Time of Christmas," 12mo. Lond. 1661. This carol is printed in the “Archæologist,” No. 1. It was sung to the tune of "Essex last good night."] ALL you that in this house be here, And whereas plenty God hath sent, Our table spread within the hall, That wil unto their tacklings stand. The maids are bonny girles I see, Who have provided much good cheer, For I have here two knives in store Commend my wits, good lads, therefore, For if I schuld, no Christmas pye For pastry-crust, like castle walls, And I made captain of the place. The prunes so lovely look on me, The which I must not let alone. Then, butler, fill me forth some beer, And so again to this good cheer, I'le quickly fall couragiously. And for my master I will pray, With all that of his household are, Both old and young, that long we may Of God's good blessings have a share. XLV. [A Christmas Song, from "Poor Robin's Almanac," 1695. It is taken from Brand's "Popular Antiquities," as we have not been able to meet with a copy of the Almanac of that year. Brand appears to have omitted a part of a stanza.] "Now thrice welcome Christmas, The best that can be, So well doth the weather And our stomachs agree. Observe how the chimneys No victuals appear, All the rest of the year! With holly and ivy So green and so gay; As fresh as the day, With bays and rosemary, But as for all curmudgeons, Who will not be free, I wish they may die On the three-legged tree. XLVI. [A Christmas Carol, from “Poor Robin's Almanac,” Dec. 1700.] Now that the time is come wherein, our Saviour Christ was born, And let it never thee repent to feast thy needy neighbours. Let fires in every chimney be, that people they may warm them ; Tables with dishes covered, good victuals will not harm them. With mutton, veals, beef, pig, and pork, well furnish every board, Plum-pudding, furmity and what thy stock will then afford. No niggard of the liquor be, This feast is to relieve the poor, Thus if thou doest, 'twill credit raise thee, God will the bless, and neighbours praise thee. XLVII. [From Sandys, p. 63.] A CHILD this day is born, Novels, sing all we may, Was born this blessed day. |