Heywood.
More than all the pictures, Ben,
Winter weaves by wood or stream,
Christmas loves our London, when
Rise thy clouds of wassail-steam—
Clouds like these, that, curling, take
Forms of faces gone, and wake
Many a lay from lips we loved, and make
London like a dream.
Chorus. Christmas knows a merry, merry place, &c.
Ben Jonson.
Love’s old songs shall never die,
Yet the new shall suffer proof:
Love’s old drink of Yule brew I
Wassail for new love’s behoof.
Drink the drink I brew, and sing
Till the berried branches swing,
Till our song make all the Mermaid ring—
Yea, from rush to roof.
Finale.
Christmas loves this merry, merry place;
Christmas saith with fondest face,
Brightest eye, brightest hair:
‘Ben, the drink tastes rare of sack and mace;
Rare!’
ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE
1837-1909