Chapter 4

O plethora of beef and bliss! Monkish feaster, sly of kiss! Southern soul in body Dutch! Glorious time of great Too-Much! Too much heat and too much noise, Too much babblement of boys; Too much eating, too much drinking, Too much ev'rything but thinking; Solely bent to laugh and stuff, And trample upon base Enough. Oh, right is thy instructive praise Of the wealth of Nature's ways! Right thy most unthrifty glee, And pious thy mince-piety! For, behold! great Nature's self Builds her no abstemious shelf, But provides (her love is such For all) her own great, good Too-Much,-- Too much grass, and too much tree, Too much air, and land, and sea, Too much seed of fruit and flower, And fish, an unimagin'd dower! (In whose single roe shall be Life enough to stock the sea,-- Endless ichthyophagy!) Ev'ry instant through the day Worlds of life are thrown away; Worlds of life, and worlds of pleasure, Not for lavishment of treasure, But because she's so immensely Rich, and loves us so intensely. She would have us, once for all, Wake at her benignant call, And all grow wise, and all lay down Strife, and jealousy, and frown, And, like the sons of one great mother, Share, and be blest, with one another.

_Leigh Hunt._

AN OLD ENGLISH CHRISTMAS-TIDE.

Thrice holy ring, afar and wide, The merry bells this Christmas-tide; Afar and wide, through hushed snow, From ivied minster-portico, Sweet anthems swell to tell the tale Of that young babe the shepherds hail Sitting amid their nibbling flocks What time the Hallelujah shocks The drowsy earth, and Cherubim Break through the heaven with harp and hymn.

Belated birds sing tingling notes To warm apace their chilly throats, Or they, mayhap, have caught the story And pipe their part from branches hoary; While up aloft, his tempered beams The sun has poured in gentle streams, Sending o'er snowy hill and dell A pleasance to greet the Christmas bell! Now every yeoman starts abroad For holly green and the ivy-tod; Good folk to kirk are soon atrip Mellow with cheer and good-fellowship, And cosey chimneys, here and there Puff forth the sweets o' Christmas fare.

Ho! rosy wenches and merry men From over the hill and field and fen, Great store is here, the drifts between Of myrtle red-berried, and mistletoe green! Ho, Phyllis and Kate and bonny Nell Come hither, and buffet the goodmen well, An they gather not for hall and hearth, Fair bays to grace the evening mirth. Aye, laugh ye well! and echoed wide Your voices sing through the Christmas-tide, And wintry winds emblend their tones At the minster-eaves with the organ groans: The carols meet with laughter sweet In a gay embrace mid the drifting sleet.

Anon the weary sun's at rest, And clouds that hovered all day by, Like silver arras down the sky Enfold him--while the winds are whist-- But not the Christmas jollity, For, little space, and wassail high Flows at the board; and hautboys sound The tripping dance and merry round. Here youths and maidens stand in row Kissing beneath the mistletoe; And many a tale of midnight rout O' Christmas-tide the woods about, Of faery meetings beneath the moon In wintry blast or summer swoon, Goes round the hearth, while all aglow The yule-log crackles the crane below.

Drink hael! good folk, by the chimney side, O sweet's the holy Christmas-tide! Drink hael! Drink hael! and pledge again: "Here's peace on earth, good-will to men!"

_H. S. M._

SIGNS OF CHRISTMAS.

When on the barn's thatch'd roof is seen The moss in tufts of liveliest green; When Roger to the wood pile goes, And, as he turns, his fingers blows; When all around is cold and drear, Be sure that Christmas-tide is near.

When up the garden walk in vain We seek for Flora's lovely train; When the sweet hawthorn bower is bare, And bleak and cheerless is the air; When all seems desolate around, Christmas advances o'er the ground.

When Tom at eve comes home from plough, And brings the mistletoe's green bough, With milk-white berries spotted o'er, And shakes it the sly maids before, Then hangs the trophy up on high, Be sure that Christmas-tide is nigh.

When Hal, the woodman, in his clogs, Bears home the huge unwieldly logs, That, hissing on the smould'ring fire, Flame out at last a quiv'ring spire; When in his hat the holly stands, Old Christmas musters up his bands.

When cluster'd round the fire at night, Old William talks of ghost and sprite, And, as a distant out-house gate Slams by the wind, they fearful wait, While some each shadowy nook explore, Then Christmas pauses at the door.

When Dick comes shiv'ring from the yard, And says the pond is frozen hard, While from his hat, all white with snow, The moisture, trickling, drops below, While carols sound, the night to cheer, Then Christmas and his train are here.

_Edwin Lees._

THE MISTLETOE.

When winter nights grow long, And winds without blow cold, We sit in a ring round the warm wood-fire, And listen to stories old! And we try to look grave, (as maids should be,) When the men bring in boughs of the Laurel-tree. _O the Laurel, the evergreen tree!_ _The poets have laurels, and why not we?_

How pleasant, when night falls down And hides the wintry sun, To see them come in to the blazing fire, And know that their work is done; Whilst many bring in, with a laugh or rhyme, Green branches of Holly for Christmas time! _O the Holly, the bright green Holly,_ _It tells (like a tongue) that the times are jolly!_

Sometimes--(in our grave house, Observe, this happeneth not;) But, at times, the evergreen laurel boughs And the holly are all forgot! And then! what then? why, the men laugh low And hang up a branch of the Mistletoe! _O brave is the Laurel! and brave is the Holly!_ _But the Mistletoe banisheth melancholy!_ _Ah, nobody knows, nor ever shall know,_ _What is done--under the Mistletoe._

_Bryan Waller Proctor._

CHRISTMAS OF OLD.

IN GERMANY.

Three weeks before the day whereon was born the Lord of grace, And on the Thursday, boys and girls do run in every place, And bounce and beat at every door, with blows and lusty snaps, And cry the advent of the Lord, not born as yet, perhaps: And wishing to the neighbors all, that in the houses dwell, A happy year, and everything to spring and prosper well: Here have they pears, and plums, and pence; each man gives willingly, For these three nights are always thought unfortunate to be, Wherein they are afraid of sprites and cankered witches' spite, And dreadful devils, black and grim, that then have chiefest might.

In these same days, young, wanton girls that meet for marriage be, Do search to know the names of them that shall their husbands be. Four onions, five, or eight they take, and make in every one Such names as they do fancy most and best do think upon. Thus near the chimney then they set, and that same onion than The first doth sprout doth surely bear the name of their good man. Their husband's nature eke they seek to know and all his guise: When as the sun hath hid himself, and left the starry skies, Unto some woodstack do they go, and while they there do stand, Each one draws out a fagot stick, the next that comes to hand, Which if it straight and even be, and have no knots at all, A gentle husband then they think shall surely to them fall; But, if it foul and crooked be, and knotty here and there, A crabbed, churlish husband then they earnestly do fear.

Then comes the day wherein the Lord did bring his birth to pass, Whereas at midnight up they rise, and every man to Mass. This time so holy counted is, that divers earnestly Do think the waters all to wine are changèd suddenly In that same hour that Christ himself was born and came to light, And unto water straight again transformed and altered quite. There are beside that mindfully the money still do watch That first to altar comes, which then they privily do snatch. The priests, lest other should it have, take oft the same away, Whereby they think throughout the year to have good luck in play, And not to lose: then straight at game till daylight do they strive To make some present proof how well their hallowed pence will thrive.

This done, a wooden child in clouts is on the altar set, About the which both boys and girls do dance and trimly get, And carols sing in praise of Christ, and for to help them here, The organs answer every verse with sweet and solemn cheer. The priests do roar aloud, and round about the parents stand, To see the sport, and with their voice do help them and their hand. Thus wont the Coribants perhaps upon the mountain Ide, The crying noise of Jupiter, new born, with song to hide, To dance about him round, and on their brazen pans to beat, Lest that his father, finding him, should him destroy and eat.

Then followeth Saint Stephen's Day, whereon doth every man His horses jaunt and course abroad, as swiftly as he can. Until they do extremely sweat, and then they let them blood, For this being done upon this day, they say doth do them good, And keeps them from all maladies and sickness through the year, As if that Stephen any time took charge of horses here. Next, John, the son of Zebedee, hath his appointed day, Who once, by cruel tyrant's will, constrained was, they say, Strong poison up to drink, therefore the Papists do believe That whoso puts their trust in him, no poison them can grieve. The wine beside that hallowed is, in worship of his name, The priests do give the people that bring money for the same. And after with the selfsame wine are little manchets[F] made, Against the boisterous winter storms, and sundry such like trade. The men upon this solemn day do take this holy wine, To make them strong, so do the maids to make them fair and fine.

Then comes the day that calls to mind the cruel Herod's strife, Who seeking Christ to kill, the King of everlasting life, Destroyèd all the infants young, a beast unmerciless, And put to death all such as were of two years age or less. To them the sinful wretches cry and earnestly do pray To get them pardon for their faults, and wipe their sins away. The parents, when this day appears, do beat their children all Though nothing they deserve, and servants all to beating fall, And monks do whip each other well, or else their Prior great, Or Abbot mad, doth take in hand their breeches all to beat In worship of these Innocents, or rather, as we see, In honor of the curséd king that did this cruelty.

The next to this is New-Year's Day, whereon to every friend They costly presents in do bring and New-Year's gifts do send. These gifts the husband gives his wife, and father eke the child, And master on his men bestows the like, with favor mild, And good beginning of the year they wish and wish again, According to the ancient guise of heathen people vain. These eight days no man doth require his debts of any man, Their tables do they furnish out with all the meat they can: With marchpanes, tarts, and custards great they drink with staring eyes, They rout and revel, feed and feast as merry all as pies, As if they should at the entrance of this New Year have to die, Yet would they have their bellies full and ancient friends ally.

The Wise Men's day here followeth, who out from Persia far, Brought gifts and presents unto Christ, conducted by a star. The Papists do believe that these were kings, and so them call, And do affirm that of the same there were but three in all. Here sundry friends together come, and meet in company, And make a king amongst themselves by voice or destiny; Who, after princely guise, appoints his officers alway, Then unto feasting do they go, and long time after play: Upon their boards, in order thick, their dainty dishes stand, Till that their purses empty be and creditors at hand. Their children herein follow them, and choosing princes here, With pomp and great solemnity, they meet and make good cheer With money either got by stealth, or of their parents eft, That so they may be trained to know both riot here and theft. Then, also, every householder, to his ability, Doth make a mighty cake that may suffice his company: Herein a penny doth he put, before it comes to fire, This he divides according as his household doth require; And every piece distributeth, as round about they stand, Which in their names unto the poor is given out of hand. But whoso chanceth on the piece wherein the money lies Is counted king amongst them all, and is with shouts and cries Exalted to the heavens up, who, taking chalk in hand, Doth make a cross on every beam and rafters as they stand: Great force and power have these against all injuries and harms, Of cursed devils, sprites and bugs, of conjurings and charms, So much this king can do, so much the crosses bring to pass, Made by some servant, maid or child, or by some foolish ass!

Twice six nights then from Christmas they do count with diligence, Wherein each master in his house doth burn up frankincense: And on the table sets a loaf, when night approacheth near, Before the coals and frankincense to be perfumed there: First bowing down his head he stands, and nose, and ears, and eyes He smokes, and with his mouth receives the fume that doth arise; Whom followeth straight his wife, and doth the same full solemnly, And of their children every one, and all their family: Which doth preserve, they say, their teeth, and nose, and eyes, and ear From every kind of malady and sickness all the year. When every one receivéd hath this odor great and small, Then one takes up the pan with coals, and frankincense and all. Another takes the loaf, whom all the rest do follow here, And round about the house they go, with torch or taper clear, That neither bread nor meat do want; nor witch with dreadful charm Have power to hurt their children, or to do their cattle harm. There are that three nights only do perform this foolish gear, To this intent, and think themselves in safety all the year. To Christ dare none commit himself. And in these days beside They judge what weather all the year shall happen and betide: Ascribing to each day a month, and at this present time The youth in every place do flock, and all apparelled fine, With pipers through the streets they run, and sing at every door In commendation of the man, rewarded well therefore, Which on themselves they do bestow, or on the church as though The people were not plagued with rogues and begging friars enow. There cities are where boys and girls together still do run About the streets with like as soon as night begins to come, And bring abroad their wassail-bowls, who well rewarded be With cakes, and cheese, and great good cheer, and money plenteously.

_From the German of Thos. Kirchmaier, A.D. 1553._

FOOTNOTE:

[F] White bread.

A PLEA FOR A PRESENT.

Father John Burges, Necessity urges My woeful cry To Sir Robert Pie: And that he will venture To send my debenture. Tell him his Ben Knew the time when He loved the Muses; Though now he refuses To take apprehension Of a year's pension, And more is behind; Put him in mind Christmas is near, And neither good cheer, Mirth, fooling, nor wit, Nor any least fit Of gambol or sport Will come to the court If there be no money, No plover or cony Will come to the table, Or wine to enable The muse, or the poet, The parish will know it Nor any quick warming-pan help him to bed; If the 'Chequer be empty, so will be his head.

_Ben Jonson._

A NEW-YEAR'S GIFT SENT TO SIR SIMEON STEWARD.

No news of navies burnt at sea, No noise of late-spawned Tityries, No closet plot or open vent That frights men with a Parliament: No new device or late-found trick, To read by the stars the kingdom's sick; No gin to catch the State, or wring The free-born nostrils of the king, We send to you, but here a jolly Verse crowned with ivy and with holly; That tells of winter's tales and mirth That milkmaids make about the hearth, Of Christmas sports, the wassail-bowl, That's tost up after fox-i'-th'-hole; Of Blindman-buff, and of the care That young men have to shoe the mare; Of Twelve-tide cake, of peas and beans, Wherewith ye make those merry scenes, When as ye choose your king and queen, And cry out: Hey, for our town green! Of ash-heaps, in the which ye use Husbands and wives by streaks to choose; Of crackling laurel, which foresounds A plenteous harvest to your grounds; Of these and such like things, for shift, We send instead of New-Year's gift: Read then, and when your faces shine With buxom meat and cap'ring wine, Remember us in cups full-crowned, And let our city-health go round, Quite through the young maids and the men To the ninth number, if not ten; Until the fired chestnuts leap For joy to see the fruits ye reap From the plump chalice and the cup That tempts till it be tosséd up. Then, as ye sit about your embers, Call not to mind those fled Decembers; But think on these that are to appear As daughters to the instant year; Sit crowned with rose-buds, and carouse, Till _Liber Pater_ twirls the house About your ears; and lay upon The year, your cares, that's fled and gone. And let the russet swains the plough And harrow hang up resting now; And to the bagpipe all address Till sleep takes place of weariness; And thus, throughout, with Christmas plays Frolic the full twelve holydays.

_Robert Herrick._

THE NEW-YEAR'S GIFT.

Let others look for pearl and gold Tissues, or tabbies manifold; One only lock of that sweet hay Whereon the Blessed Baby lay, Or one poor swaddling-clout, shall be The richest New-Year's gift to me.

_Robert Herrick._

AN INVITATION TO THE REVEL.

Come follow, follow me, Those that good fellows be, Into the buttery Our manhood for to try; The master keeps a bounteous house, And gives leave freely to carouse.

Then wherefore should we fear, Seeing here is store of cheer? It shows but cowardice At this time to be nice. Then boldly draw your blades and fight, For we shall have a merry night.

When we have done this fray, Then we will go to play At cards or else at dice, And be rich in a trice; Then let the knaves go round apace, I hope each time to have an ace.

Come, maids, let's want no beer After our Christmas cheer, And I will duly crave Good husbands you may have, And that you may good houses keep, When we may drink carouses deep.

And when that's spent the day We'll Christmas gambols play, At hot cockles beside And then go to all-hide, With many other pretty toys, Men, women, youths, maids, girls, and boys.

Come, let's dance round the hall, And let's for liquor call; Put apples in the fire, Sweet maids, I you desire; And let a bowl be spiced well Of happy stuff that doth excel.

Twelve days we now have spent In mirth and merriment, And daintily did fare, For which we took no care: But now I sadly call to mind What days of sorrow are behind.

We must leave off to play, To-morrow's working-day; According to each calling Each man must now be falling, And ply his business all the year Next Christmas for to make good cheer.

Now of my master kind Good welcome I did find, And of my loving mistress This merry time of Christmas; For which to them great thanks I give, God grant they long together live.

A CHRISTMAS DITTY.

Sweep the ingle, froth the beer, Tiptoe on till chanticleer, Loose the laugh, dry the tear,-- Crack the drums When Christmas comes!

AT THE END OF THE FEAST.

Mark well my heavy, doleful tale, For Twelfth-day now is come, And now I must no longer sing, And say no words but mum; For I perforce must take my leave Of all my dainty cheer, Plum-porridge, roast-beef, and minced-pies, My strong ale and my beer.

Kind-hearted Christmas, now adieu, For I with thee must part, And for to take my leave of thee Doth grieve me at the heart; Thou wert an ancient housekeeper, And mirth with meat didst keep, But thou art going out of town, Which makes me for to weep.

God knoweth whether I again Thy merry face shall see, Which to good fellows and the poor That was so frank and free. Thou lovedst pastime with thy heart, And eke good company; Pray hold me up for fear I swoon, For I am like to die.

Come, butler, fill a brimmer up To cheer my fainting heart, That to old Christmas I may drink Before he doth depart; And let each one that's in this room With me likewise condole, And for to cheer their spirits sad Let each one drink a bowl.

And when the same it hath gone round Then fall unto your cheer, For you do know that Christmas time It comes but once a year. But this good draught which I have drunk Hath comforted my heart, For I was very fearful that My stomach would depart.

Thanks to my master and my dame That doth such cheer afford; God bless them, that each Christmas they May furnish thus their board. My stomach having come to me, I mean to have a bout, Intending to eat most heartily; Good friends, I do not flout.

_New Christmas Carols, A.D. 1642._

TWELFTH NIGHT; OR, KING AND QUEEN.

Now, now the mirth comes With the cake full of plums, Where bean's the king of the sport here; Beside, we must know The pea also Must revel as queen in the court here.

Begin then to choose, This night, as ye use, Who shall for the present delight here; Be a king by the lot, And who shall not Be Twelve-day queen for the night here!

Which known, let us make Joy-sops with the cake; And let not a man then be seen here, Who unurged will not drink, To the base from the brink, A health to the king and the queen here!

Next crown the bowl full With gentle lamb's wool, And sugar, nutmeg, and ginger, With store of ale, too; And this ye must do To make the wassail a swinger.

Give then to the king And queen, wassailing, And though with ale ye be wet here, Yet part ye from hence As free from offence As when ye innocent met here

_Robert Herrick._

CEREMONIES FOR CANDLEMAS EVE.

Down with the rosemary and bays, Down with the mistletoe; Instead of holly, now upraise The greener box for show.

The holly hitherto did sway; Let box now domineer Until the dancing Easter day Or Easter's eve appear.

Then youthful box, which now hath grace Your houses to renew, Grown old, surrender must his place Unto the crispéd yew.

When yew is out, then birch comes in, And many flowers beside, Both of a fresh and fragrant kin, To honor Whitsuntide.

Green rushes then, and sweetest bents, With cooler oaken boughs, Come in for comely ornaments, To readorn the house. Thus times do shift, each thing his turn does hold; New things succeed as former things grow old.

_Robert Herrick._

ANOTHER CEREMONY.