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A CHRISTMAS CARROL.
BY GEORGE WITHER.
So, now is come our joyfulst feast;
Let every man be jolly ; Each room with ivy leaves is drest,
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' chimnies smoke, And Christmas blocks are burning ;
Their ovens they with bak'd meats choke, And all their spits are turning.
Without the door let sorrow lye ;
And if for cold it hap to die,
We '11 bury't in a Christmas pie, And ever more be merry.
Now every lad is wondrous trim, And no man minds his labour;
Our lasses have provided them A bag-pipe and a tabor ; |
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