"Lady—Well said, honest Cryer, Mr. Woodcock will remember you for it.
"Cryer—The poor old man upon St. Thomas his day was arraigned, condemned, and after conviction cast into prison amongst the King's Souldiers; fearing to be hanged, or some other execution to be done upon him, and got out at so narrow a passage, between two Iron Bars of a Window, that nothing but onely his old gray beard and hoarie haire of his head stuck there, but nothing else to be seen of him; and, if you will have that, compound for it, lest it be sold among the sequestred goods, or burnt with the next Popish pictures, by the hand of the hangman.
"Lady—But is old, old, good old Christmas gone? Nothing but the hair of his good, grave old head and beard left! Well I will have that, seeing I cannot have more of him, one lock whereof will serve Mr. Woodcock for a token. But what is the event of his departure?
"Cryer—The poor are sory for it, for they go to every door a-begging as they were wont to do (Good Mrs., somewhat against this good Time); but Time was transformed (Away, begone, here is not for you); and so they, instead of going to the Ale-house to be drunk, were fain to work all the Holidayes. The Schollers came into the Hall, where their hungry stomacks had thought to have found good Brawn and Christmas pies, Roast Beef and Plum-porridge; but no such matter. Away, ye prophane, these are superstitious meats; your stomacks must be fed with wholesome doctrine. Alas, poor tallow-faced Chandlers, I met them mourning through the streets, and complaining that they could get no vent for their Mustard, for want of Brawn.
"Lady—Well, if ever the Catholiques or Bishops rule again in England, they will set the Church dores open on Christmas day, and we shall have Masse at the High Altar, as was used when the day was first instituted, and not have the holy Eucharist barred out of School, as School boyes do their Masters against the festival![7] What! shall we have our mouths shut to welcome old Christmas? No, no, bid him come by night over the Thames, and we will have a back door open to let him in. I will, myself, give him his diet for one year, to try his fortune this time twelve month, it may prove better."
And this was the general feeling. Parliament might sit, as we learn by The Kingdome's Weekly Intelligencer, No. 152: "Thursday, December 25, vulgarly known by the name of Christmas Day, both Houses sate. The House of Commons, more especially, debated some things in reference to the privileges of that House, and made some orders therein." But the mass of the people quietly protested against this way of ignoring Christ-tide, and notwithstanding the Assembly of Divines and Parliament, no shops were open in London on that day, in spite of the article published in No. 135 of Mercurius Civicus, or London's Intelligencer, which explained the absurdity of keeping Christmas day, and ordained that all shops should be opened, and that the shopkeepers should see that their apprentices were at work on that day. If they needed a holiday, "let them keep the fift of November, and other dayes of that nature, or the late great mercy of God in the taking of Hereford, which deserves an especiall day of thanks giving." It would not so much have mattered if all the Puritans had followed the example of George Fox, the founder of Quakerism, who, "when the time called Christmas came, when others were feasting and sporting themselves, went from house to house seeking out the poor and desolate, and giving them money."
Parliament, although they did their best by public example to do away with it, sitting every Christmas day from 1644 to 1656, could not extinguish the deep-rooted feeling in favour of its being kept up in the old-fashioned way, and, in London, at Christmas 1646, those who opened their shops were very roughly used, so much so that in 1647 they asked the Parliament to protect them in future. Certainly, in that year, the shops were all closed, but the irrepressible love of Christmas could not be controlled, and the porters of Cornhill bedecked the conduit with "Ivy, Rosmary, and Bays," and similar decorations were exhibited in other parts of the City—a proceeding which sorely exercised the Lord Mayor and the City Marshal, who rode about, with their followings, setting fire to the harmless green stuff—the doing of which occasioned great mirth among the Royalist party.
There were riots about the keeping of Christmas in several parts of the country—notably one at Ealing, in Middlesex; but there was a famous one at Canterbury,[8] the particulars of which are given in a short tract, which I here reprint, as it shows the feeling in the country: