But now they find them with good cheer,
And what they want, they take in beer,
For Christmas comes but once a year,
And then they shall be merry.
Good farmers in the country nurse
The poor, that else were undone;
Some landlords spend their money worse
On lust and pride in London.
There the roysters they do play;
Drab and dice their lands away,
Which may be ours another day,
And therefore let’s be merry.
The client now his suit forbears;
The prisoner’s heart is eased;
The debtor drinks away his cares,
And for the time is pleased.
Though others’ purses be most fat,
Why should we pine or grieve at that?
Hang sorrow! care will kill a cat,
And therefore let’s be merry.
Hark! now the wags abroad do call
Each other forth to rambling;
Anon you’ll see them in the hall
For nuts and apples scrambling.
Hark how the roofs with laughter sound,
Anon they’ll think the house goes round,
For they the cellar’s depth have found,
And then they will be merry.
The wenches with their wassail bowls
About the streets are singing;
The boys are come to catch the owls,
The wild mare in it bringing.
Our kitchen-boy hath broke his box,
And to the dealing of the ox
Our honest neighbours come by flocks,
And here they will be merry.
Now kings and queens poor sheepcotes have,
And mute with every body;
The lowest now may play the knave,
And wise men play the noddy.