Seignors, escriez les malveis,

Car vus nel les troverez jameis
De bone part :

Botun, batun, ferun groinard,

Car tot dis a le quer cunard

Por faire honor,

Deu doint...

Noel beyt bein li vin Engleis,
Eli Gascoin, & li Franceys,
E l'Angevin.

Noel fait beivere son veisin,

Si qu'il se dort, le chief enclin,
Sovent le jor.

Deu doint a tuz cels. ...

Seignors, jo vus di par Noel,

E

par

li sires de cest hostel,

Car bevez ben:

E jo primes beverai le men,

E pois après chescon le soen,
Par mon conseil ;

Si jo vus di trestoz, 'Wesseyl!'
Dehaiz eit qui ne dirra, Drincheyl !'

VI.

Free translation of the same, (from Douce's Illustrations, ed. 1839, pp. 448-9.)

LORDINGS, from a distant home,

To seek old Christmas we are come,

Who loves our minstrelsy?
And here, unless report mis-say,

The grey-beard dwells; and on this day
Keeps yearly wassel, ever gay,

With festive mirth and glee.

To all who honour Christmas and commend our lays,

Love will his blessing send, and crown with joy their

Lordings, list, for we tell you true,

Christmas loves the jolly crew

That cloudy care defy :

His liberal board is deftly spread

With manchet loaves and wastel-bread;
His guests with fish and flesh are fed,
Nor lack the stately pye.

Lordings, you know that far and near
The saying is, "Who gives good cheer,
And freely spends his treasure ;

On him will bounteous heaven bestow
Twice treble blessings here below,
His happy hours shall sweetly flow
In never-ceasing pleasure."

Lordings, believe us, knaves abound;
In every place are flatterers found;
May all their arts be vain!

But chiefly from these scenes of joy
Chase sordid souls that mirth annoy,
And all who with their base alloy

Turn pleasure into pain.

[days.

Christmas quaffs our English wines,

Nor Gascoigne juice, nor French declines,
Nor liquor of Anjou :

He puts th' insidious goblet round,

Till all the guests in sleep are drown'd,
Then wakes 'em with the tabor's sound,
And plays the prank anew.

Lordings, it is our host's command,
And Christmas joins him hand in hand,
To drain the brimming bowl:

And I'll be foremost to obey;

Then pledge me, sirs, and drink away,
For Christmas revels here to day,

And sways without control.

Now wassel to you all! and merry may ye be !
But foul that wight befall, who drinks not health to

me.

VII.

(Vespasian, A. xxv. 142, ro.)

THERE is no tre that growe
On earthe, that I do knowe,
More worthie praise, I trowe,

Then is the vyne:

Whos grapes, as ye maye wende,

Theire licoure forthe dothe shede.

Whereof is made indede,

All our good wyne.

And wyne ye maye trust me
Causethe men for to be

Merie, for so ye se

His nature is.

Then put aside all wrathe,

For David shewed us hathe,

Vinu letificat

Cor hominis.

Wyne taken wth excesse,
As scripture dothe expres,
Causethe great hevines

Unto the mynde.

But theie that take pleasure,

To drinke it wth measure,

No doute a great treasure

They shall it finde.

Then voide you all sadnes,

Drinke youre wine with gladnes,

To take thought is madnes,

And marke well this;

And put aside all wrathe,

For David showde us hathe,

Vinu letificat cor hominis.

Howe bringe ye that to pas,
Cordis jocunditas,

Is nowe and eū was

The life of man.

Sithe that mirthe hathe no peare,
Then let us make good cheare,

And be you merie heare

While that you can.

And drinke well of this wyne,

While it is good and fyne,

And shewe some outwarde syne

Of joye and blisse.

Expell from you all wrathe,

For David shewed us hathe,

Vinu letificat

Cor hominis.

This thinge full well ye ken,
Hevenes dullethe men,

But take this medicien then

Where eu'r ye come.

Refreshe your self therwith,
For it was saide long sithe,
That vinu acuit,