POEMS ON CHRISTMAS MERRY-MAKING

NOWELL, Nowell, Nowell, Nowell. ‘Who is there that singeth so nowell, nowell, nowell?’ ‘I am here, Sir Christmas.’ ‘Welcome, my lord Sir Christmas. Welcome to us both more and less, Come near.’ Nowell. ‘Dieu vous garde, beau sire. Tidings I you bring; A maid hath born a Child full ying[34] The which causeth for to sing Nowell. ‘Christ is now born of a pure maid; In an ox-stall he is laid: Wherefore sing we all at a brayde[35] Nowell. ‘Beuvez bien par tutte la company, Make good cheer and be right merry; And sing with us now right joyfully, Nowell.’

MAN, be joyful and mirth thou make, For Christ is made man for thy sake. Man, be merry, I thee rede, But be ware what mirths thou make: Christ is clothèd in thy weed And He is made man for thy sake. He came from His Father’s seat, Into this world to be thy make; Man, be ware how thou Him treat, For He is made man for thy sake. Look thou mercy ever cry, Now and alway, rathe and late, And He will set thee wonder high, For He is made man for thy sake.

MAKE we merry, both more and less For now is the time of Christëmas! Let no man come into this hall, Groom, page, nor yet marshall, But that some sport he bring withal! For now is the time of Christëmas! If that he say he cannot sing, Some other sport then let him bring, That it may please at this feasting. For now is the time of Christëmas! If he say he can nought do, Then for my love ask him no mo, But to the stocks then let him go! For now is the time of Christëmas!

HOLLY and Ivy made a great party, Who should have the mastery In landës where they go. Then spake Holly, ‘I am free and jolly. I will have the mastery In landës where we go.’ Then spake Ivy, ‘I am loud and proud, And I will have the mastery, In landës where we go.’ Then spake Holly, and set him down on his knee, ‘I pray thee, gentle Ivy, Say me no villainy, In landës where we go.’

ALLELUIA, Alleluia, Alleluia, now sing we. Here comes holly, that is so gent, To please all men is his intent. Alleluia. But lord and lady of this hall, Who so ever against holly call, Alleluia. Who so ever against holly do cry, In a lepe[36] shall he hang full high. Alleluia. Who so ever against holly do sing, He may weep and handës wring. Alleluia.

IVY chief of trees it is, Veni coronaberis. The most worthy she is in town; He that saith other, doth amiss: And worthy to bear the crown; Veni coronaberis. Ivy is soft and meek of speech, Against all bale she is bliss; Well is he that may her reach; Veni coronaberis. Ivy is green, with colour bright, Of all trees best she is; And that I prove well now by right. Veni coronaberis. Ivy beareth berries black; God grant us all his bliss! For there shall we nothing lack. Veni coronaberis.

NAY, ivy, nay, It shall not be, i-wis;[37] Let holly have the mastery, As the manner is. Holly stands in the hall, Fair to behold; Ivy stands without the door, She is full sore a-cold. Nay, ivy, nay, &c. Holly and his merry men, They dancen and they sing; Ivy and her maidens They weepen and they wring. Nay, ivy, nay, &c. Ivy hath a kybe,[38] She caught it with the cold; So mot they all have That with ivy hold. Nay, ivy, nay, &c. Holly hath berries As red as any rose, The foster[39] {and} the hunter Keep them from the does. Nay, ivy, nay, &c. Ivy hath berries As black as any sloe; There come the owl And eat them as she go. Nay, ivy, nay, &c. Holly hath birdës, A full fair flock, The nightingale, the popinjay, The gentle laverock. Nay, ivy, nay, &c. Good ivy, What birdës hast thou? None but the howlet That cries ‘how, how.’ Nay, ivy, nay, It shall not be, i-wis; Let holly have the mastery, As the manner is.

HEY, hey, hey, hey, The boarës head is armed gay. The boarës head in hand I bring With garland gay in portering, I pray you all with me to sing, With hey, &c. Lordës, knightës, and squïers, Parsons, priestës, and vicars, The boarës head is the first mess, With hey, &c. The boarës head, as I you say, He takes his leave and goeth his way Anon after the twelfth day, With hey, &c.

CAPUT apri defero, Reddens laudes Domino. The boar’s head in hand bring I, With garlands gay and rosemary; I pray you all sing merrily, Qui estis in convivio. The boar’s head, I understand, Is the chief service in this land; Look, wherever it be fand, Servite cum cantico. Be glad, lords, both more and less, For this hath ordained our steward, To cheer you all this Christmas, The boar’s head with mustard.

NOWEL, nowel, nowel, nowel, Tidings good I think to tell. The boarës head that we bring here Betokeneth a prince withouten peer Is born this day to buy us dear. Nowel. A boar is a sovereign beast And acceptable in every feast: So mote this Lord be to most and least. Nowel. This boarës head we bring with song In worship of Him that thus sprung Of a virgin, to redress all wrong. Nowel.

PROFACE,[40] welcome, welcome, proface, This time is born a child of grace, That for us mankind hath take. Proface. A king’s son and an emperor Is comen out of a maiden’s tower, With us to dwell with great honour. Proface. This holy time of Christës-mass, All sorrow and sin we should release, And cast away all heaviness. Proface. The good lord of this place entere Saith welcome to all that now appear Unto such fare as ye find here. Proface. Welcome be this New Year, And look ye all be of good cheer; Our Lord God be at our dinnere. Proface.

SO now is come our joyful’st 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’ chimneys smoke, And Christmas logs are burning; Their ovens they with baked meats 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, And evermore be merry. Now every lad is wondrous trim, And no man minds his labour; Our lasses have provided them A bagpipe and a tabour; 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; And dogs thence with whole shoulders run, So all things there aboundeth. The country folks themselves advance, For crowdy-mutton’s[41] come out of France; And Jack shall pipe, and Jill shall dance, And all the town be merry. Ned Squash hath fetched his bands from pawn, And all his best apparel; Brisk Ned hath bought a ruff of lawn, With droppings of the barrel. And those that hardly all the year Had bread to eat or rags to wear, Will have both clothes and dainty fare, And all the day be merry. Now poor men to the justices With capons make their arrants, 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; Sour 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, The prisoner’s heart is eased; The debtor drinks away his cares, And for the time is pleased. Though other purses be more fat, Why should we pine or grieve at that? Hang sorrow! care will kill a cat, And therefore let’s be merry. Hark, how the wags abroad do call Each other forth to rambling: And you’ll see them in the hall For nuts and apples scrambling. Hark, how the roofs with laughter sound! And 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 wildmare[42] 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. Now kings and queens poor sheep-cotes have And mate with everybody: The honest now may play the knave, And wise men play at noddy.[43] Some youths will now a-mumming go, Some others play at Rowland-ho, And twenty other gameboys mo, Because they will be merry. Then wherefore in these merry days Should we, I pray, be duller? Ho, let us sing some roundelays, To make our mirth the fuller. And whilst thus inspired we sing, Let all the streets with echoes ring, Woods and hills and everything Bear witness we are merry. George Wither

COME, bring with a noise, My merry, merry boys, The Christmas log to the firing; While my good dame she Bids ye all be free, And drink to your hearts’ desiring. With the last year’s brand Light the new block, and For good success in his spending, On your psaltries play, That sweet luck may Come while the log is a-teending.[44] Drink now the strong beer, Cut the white loaf here; The while the meat is a-shredding; For the rare mince-pie, And the plums stand by To fill the paste that’s a-kneading. CHRISTMAS EVE: ANOTHER CEREMONY COME, guard this night the Christmas pie, That the thief, though ne’er so sly, With his flesh-hooks don’t come nigh To catch it. From him, who all alone sits there, Having his eyes still in his ear And a deal of nightly fear, To watch it. ANOTHER TO THE MAIDS WASH your hands, or else the fire Will not teend to your desire; Unwash’d hands, ye maidens, know, Dead the fire though ye blow. ANOTHER 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

GIVE way, give way, ye gates, and win An easy blessing to your bin And basket, by our entering in. May both with manchet[45] stand replete; Your larders too so hung with meat, That though a thousand, thousand eat, Yet, ere twelve moons shall whirl about Their silv’ry spheres, there’s none may doubt But more’s sent in than was serv’d 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 Bank’d all with lilies, and the cream Of sweetest cowslips filling them. Then, may your plants be prest with fruit, Nor bee or hive you have be mute; But sweetly sounding like a lute. Next may your duck and teeming hen Both to the cock’s tread say Amen; And for their two eggs render ten. Last may your harrows, shears, and ploughs, Your stacks, your stocks, your sweetest mows, All prosper by your virgin vows. Robert Herrick

NOW, now the mirth comes With the cake full of plums, Where bean’s the king of the sport here; Besides we must know, The pea also Must revel as queen in the court here. Begin then to choose This night as ye use, Who shall for the present delight here; Be a king by the lot, And who shall not Be Twelfth-day queen for the night here. Which known, let us make Joy-sops with the cake; And let not a man then be seen here, Who unurg’d will not drink, To the base from the brink, A health to the king and the queen here. Next crown the bowl full With gentle lamb’s wool: Add sugar, nutmeg, and ginger, With store of ale too: And thus ye must do To make the wassail a swinger. Give then to the king And queen wassailing: And though with ale ye be whet here, Yet part ye from hence As free from offence As when ye innocent met here. Robert Herrick

NO news of navies burnt at seas; No noise of late-spawn’d tittyries;[46] No closet plot, or open vent That frights men with a parliament: No new device or late-found trick To read by th’ stars the kingdom’s sick; No gin to catch the state, or wring The free-born nostrils of the king, We send to you: but here a jolly Verse crown’d with ivy and with holly, That tells of winter’s tales and mirth, That milkmaids make about the hearth, Or Christmas sports, the wassail bowl, That tost up, after fox-i-th’-hole; Of blind-man-buff, and of the care That young men have to shoe the mare; Of twelve-tide cakes, of peas and beans, Wherewith you make those merry scenes, Whenas ye choose your king and queen And cry out: ‘Hey, for our town green’; Of ash-heaps in the which ye use Husbands and wives by streaks to choose; Of crackling laurel which foresounds A plenteous harvest to your grounds: Of these and such-like things for shift, We send instead of New Year’s gift. Read then, and when your faces shine With buxom meat and cap’ring wine, Remember us in cups full crown’d, And let our city-health go round, Quite through the young maids and the men, To the ninth number, if not ten; Until the fired chestnuts leap For joy to see the fruits ye reap From the plump chalice and the cup That tempts till it be tossed up; Then as ye sit about your embers, Call not to mind those fled Decembers, But think on these that are t’ appear As daughters to the instant year: Sit crown’d with rosebuds, and carouse Till Liber Pater twirls the house About your ears; and lay upon The year your cares that’s fled and gone. And let the russet swains the plough And harrow hang up resting now; And to the bagpipe all address, Till sleep takes place of weariness. And thus, throughout, with Christmas plays Frolic the full twelve holidays. Robert Herrick

NOW winter nights enlarge The number of their hours; And clouds their storms discharge Upon the airy towers. Let now the chimneys blaze And cups o’erflow with wine, Let well-tuned words amaze With harmony divine. Now yellow waxen lights Shall wait on honey love, While youthful revels, masques, and courtly sights, Sleep’s leaden spells remove. This time doth well dispense With lovers’ long discourse, Much speech hath some defence, Though beauty no remorse. All do not all things well; Some measures comely tread, Some knotted riddles tell, Some poems smoothly read. The summer hath his joys, And winter his delights; Though love and all his pleasures are but toys, They shorten tedious nights. Thomas Campion

TO shorten winter’s sadness, See where the nymphs with gladness Disguisèd all are coming Right wantonly a-mumming. Fa la. Whilst youthful sports are lasting To feasting turn our fasting; With revels and with wassails Make grief and care our vassals. Fa la. For youth it well beseemeth That pleasure he esteemeth; And sullen age is hated That mirth would have abated. Fa la. Unknown.

THE damsel donn’d her kirtle sheen; The hall was dress’d with holly green; Forth to the wood did merry-men go, To gather in the mistletoe. Then open’d wide the baron’s hall To vassal, tenant, serf and all; Power laid his rod of rule aside, And ceremony doff’d his pride. The heir with roses in his shoes That night might village partner choose; The lord underogating share The vulgar game of post-and-pair. All hail’d with uncontroll’d delight And general voice the happy night That to the cottage as the crown Brought tidings of salvation down. The fire with well-dried logs supplied Went roaring up the chimney wide; The huge hall-table’s oaken face, Scrubb’d till it shone, the day to grace, Bore then upon its massive board No mark to part the squire and lord. Then was brought in the lusty brawn By old blue-coated serving-man; Then the grim boar’s head frown’d on high, Crested with bay and rosemary. Well can the green-garb’d ranger tell How, when, and where the monster fell, What dogs before his death he tore, And all the baiting of the boar. The wassail round, in good brown bowls, Garnish’d with ribbons, blithely trowls. There the huge sirloin reek’d; hard by Plum-porridge stood and Christmas pie; Nor fail’d old Scotland to produce At such high-tide her savoury goose. Then came the merry masquers in And carols roar’d with blithesome din; If unmelodious was the song It was a hearty note and strong. Who lists may in their mumming see Traces of ancient mystery; White shirts supplied the masquerade, And smutted cheeks the visors made: But oh! what masquers richly dight Can boast of bosoms half so light! England was merry England when Old Christmas brought his sports again. ’Twas Christmas broach’d the mightiest ale, ’Twas Christmas told the merriest tale; A Christmas gambol oft could cheer The poor man’s heart through half the year. Sir Walter Scott

WINTER was not unkind because uncouth; His prison’d time made me a closer guest, And gave thy graciousness a warmer zest, Biting all else with keen and angry tooth: And bravelier the triumphant blood of youth Mantling thy cheek its happy home possest, And sterner sport by day put strength to test, And custom’s feast at night gave tongue to truth. Or say hath flaunting summer a device To match our midnight revelry, that rang With steel and flame along the snow-girt ice? Or when we hark’t to nightingales that sang On dewy eves in spring, did they entice To gentler love than winter’s icy fang? Robert Bridges

BETWEEN the moonlight and the fire In winter twilights long ago, What ghosts we raised for your desire, To make your merry blood run slow! How old, how grave, how wise we grow! No Christmas ghost can make us chill, Save those that troop in mournful row, The ghosts we all can raise at will! The beasts can talk in barn and byre On Christmas Eve, old legends know. As year by year the years retire, We men fall silent then I trow, Such sights hath memory to show, Such voices from the silence thrill, Such shapes return with Christmas snow,— The ghosts we all can raise at will. Oh, children of the village choir, Your carols on the midnight throw! Oh, bright across the mist and mire, Ye ruddy hearths of Christmas glow! Beat back the dread, beat down the woe, Let’s cheerily descend the hill; Be welcome all, to come or go, The ghosts we all can raise at will! Envoy Friend, sursum corda, soon or slow We part, like guests who’ve joyed their fill; Forget them not, nor mourn them so, The ghosts we all can raise at will, Andrew Lang

Sandy. IN holly hedges starving birds Silently mourn the setting year. Basil. Upright like silver-plated swords The flags stand in the frozen mere. Brian. The mistletoe we still adore Upon the twisted hawthorn grows. Menzies. In antique gardens hellebore Puts forth its blushing Christmas rose. Sandy. Shrivelled and purple, cheek by jowl, The hips and haws hang drearily. Basil. Rolled in a ball the sulky owl Creeps far into his hollow tree. Brian. In abbeys and cathedrals dim The birth of Christ is acted o’er; The kings of Cologne worship Him, Balthazar, Jasper, Melchior. Menzies. And while our midnight talk is made Of this and that and now and then, The old earth-stopper with his spade And lantern seeks the fox’s den. Sandy. Oh, for a northern blast to blow These depths of air that cream and curdle! Basil. Now are the halcyon days, you know; Old Time has leapt another hurdle: And pauses as he only may Who knows he never can be caught. Brian. The winter solstice, shortest day And longest night, was past, I thought. Basil. Oh yes! but fore-and-aft a week Silent the winds must ever be, Because the happy halcyons seek Their nests upon the sea. Brian. The Christmas-time! the lovely things That last of it! Sweet thoughts and deeds! Sandy. How strong and green old Legend clings Like ivy round the ruined creeds! Menzies. A fearless, ruthless, wanton band, Deep in our hearts we guard from scathe, Of last year’s log a smouldering brand To light at Yule the fire of faith. Brian. The shepherds in the field at night Beheld an angel glory-clad, And shrank away with sore affright. ‘Be not afraid,’ the angel bade. ‘I bring good news to king and clown, To you here crouching on the sward; For there is born in David’s town A Saviour which is Christ the Lord. ‘Behold the Babe is swathed, and laid Within a manger.’ Straight there stood Beside the angel all arrayed A heavenly multitude. ‘Glory to God,’ they sang; ‘and peace, Good pleasure among men.’ Sandy. The wondrous message of release! Menzies. Glory to God again! Brian. Again! God help us to be good! Basil. Hush! hark! without; the waits, the waits! With brass, and strings, and mellow wood. Menzies. A simple tune can ope heaven’s gates! Sandy. Slowly they play, poor careful souls, With wistful thoughts of Christmas cheer, Unwitting how their music rolls Away the burden of the year. Basil. And with the charm, the homely rune, Our thoughts like childhood’s thoughts are given, When all our pulses beat in tune With all the stars of heaven. Menzies. Oh cease! Oh cease! Sandy. Ay; cease, and bring The wassail bowl, the cup of grace. Brian. Pour wine, and heat it till it sing, With cloves, and cardamums and mace.

Brian. Hush! hark! the waits far up the street! Basil. A distant, ghostly charm unfolds, Of magic music wild and sweet, Anomes and clarigolds. John Davidson

NOW have good day, now have good day! I am Christmas, and now I go my way! Here have I dwelt with more and less From Hallow-tide till Candlemas! And now must I from you hence pass, Now have good day! I take my leave of King and Knight, And Earl, Baron, and Lady bright; To wilderness I must me dight. Now have good day! And at the good Lord of this hall I take my leave, and of guestës all. Methinks I hear Lent doth call. Now have good day! And at every worthy officer, Marshall, panter, and butler, I take my leave as for this year. Now have good day! Another year I trust I shall Maken merry in this hall! If rest and peace in England may fall! Now have good day! But oftentimes I have heard say That he is loth to part away, That often biddeth ‘have good day’! Now have good day! Now fare ye well, all in fere![47] Now fare ye well for all this year! Yet for my sake make ye good cheer! Now have good day! Unknown