'God save your souls, good Christian folk! God save your souls from sin!— Blythe Yule is come—let us blythely joke!'— Cry the mummers ere they begin.
Then, plough-boy Jack, in kirtle gay,— Though shod with clouted shoon,— Stands forth the wilful maid to play Who ever saith to her lover, 'Nay'— When he sues for a lover's boon.
While Hob the smith with sturdy arm Circleth the feigned maid; And, spite of Jack's assumed alarm, Busseth his lips, like a lover warm, And will not 'Nay' be said
Then loffe the gossips, as if wit Were mingled with the joke: Gentles,—they were with folly smit,— Natheless, their memories acquit Of crime—these simple folk!
No harmful thoughts their revels blight,— Devoid of bitter hate and spite, They hold their merriment;— And, till the chimes tell noon at night, Their joy shall be unspent!
Come haste ye to bold Thorold's hall, And crowd his kitchen wide; For there, he saith, both free and thrall Shall sport this good Yule-tide."
In subsequent verses the writer depicts the bringing in of the yule log to the Baron's Hall,
"Where its brave old heart A glow shall impart To the heart of each guest at the festival. - - - - - - They pile the Yule-log on the hearth,— Soak toasted crabs in ale; And while they sip, their homely mirth Is joyous as if all the earth For man were void of bale!
And why should fears for future years, Mix jolly ale with thoughts of tears When in the horn 'tis poured? And why should ghost of sorrow fright The bold heart of an English knight When beef is on the board?