Christmas

by Unknown

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 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,