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So now is come our joyful'st feast;
Let every man be jolly;
And every post with holly.
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't in a Christmas pie,
Now every lad is wond'rous trim,
And no man minds his labour; Our lasses have provided them
A bagpipe and a tabor; Young men and maids, and girls and boys, Give life to one another's joys; And you anon shall by their noise
Perceive that they are merry.
Rank misers now do sparing shun;
Their hall of music soundeth;
So all things there aboundeth.
And all the town be merry.
Ned Squash hath fetcht his bands from pawn,
And all his best apparel;
With dropping of the barrel.
And all the day be merry.
Now poor men to the justices
And if they hap to fail of these,
They plague them with their warrants:
But now they feed them with good cheer, And what they want they take in beer, For Christmas comes but once a year, And then they shall be merry.
Good farmers in the country nurse
The poor, that else were undone; Some landlords spend their money worse,
On lust and pride at 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,
And for the time is pleased.
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. Hark! how the roofs with laughter sound, 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.