To Sir Simon Steward

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

NEW

row 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

O shorten winter's sadness,

Tsee where the nymphs with gladness

Disguised 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.

III. THE DAMSEL DONN'D HER KIRTLE

T

SHEEN

'HE 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 Damsel donn'd her Kirtle Sheen

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.

I12.

The Damsel donn'd her Kirtle Sheen

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

W

year.

SIR WALTER SCOTT

WINTER WAS NOT UNKIND

INTER 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