A Yule Song
Reading edition
Who cries ’tis folly to wreathe the bright holly? Who is it scoffs at the mistletoe bough? Marry, then, out on him! marry, then, flout on him! If there’s a time to be jolly, ’tis now! Berry-tide, cherry-tide, each is a merry tide, And there’s charm in the nutting, I vow! But none surpasses,—how say you, my lasses?— The time for up-hanging the mistletoe bough! Reason,—away with it! Men have grown gray with it, Pondering why and considering how; We have no part in it,—nay, and no heart in it!— Under the droop of the mistletoe bough! So, lads, your choices all! Lift, maids, your voices all! Love levels prince with the man at the plough. We’ll make our boast of it, we’ll make our toast of it,— Ne’er may it wither, the mistletoe bough!