Chapter 7

Then let all curmudgeons who dote on their wealth, And value their treasure much more than their health, Go hang themselves up, if they will be so kind; Old Christmas with them but small welcome shall find; They will not afford to themselves without grief, Plum-pudding, goose, capon, minced-pies, and roast-beef.

_Evans' Old Ballads._

THE TRENCHERMAN.

My master and dame, I well perceive, Are purposed to be merry to-night, And willingly hath given me leave To combat with a Christmas Knight. Sir Pig, I see, comes prancing in And bids me draw if that I dare; I care not for his valor a pin, For Jack of him will have a share.

My lady goose among the rest Upon the table takes her place, And piping-hot bids do my best, And bravely looks me in the face; For pigs and geese are gallant cheer, God bless my master and dame therefore! I trust before the next New Year To eat my part of half a score.

I likewise see good minced-pie Here standing swaggering on the table; The lofty walls so large and high I'll level down if I be able; For they be furnished with good plums, And spiced well with pepper and salt, Every prune as big as both my thumbs To drive down bravely the juice of malt.

Fill me some of your Christmas beer, Your pepper sets my mouth on heat, And Jack's a-dry with your good cheer, Give me some good ale to my meat. And then again my stomach I'll show, For good roast-beef here stoutly stands; I'll make it stoop before I go, Or I'll be no man of my hands.

And for the plenty of this house God keep it thus well-stored alway; Come, butler, fill me a good carouse, And so we'll end our Christmas day.

_New Christmas Carols._

BAN AND BLESSING.

Now Christmas comes, 'tis fit that we Should feast and sing and merry be, Keep open house, let fiddlers play; A fig for cold, sing care away! And may they who thereat repine, On brown bread and on small beer dine. Make fires with logs, let the cooks sweat With boiling and with roasting meat; Let ovens be heat for fresh supplies Of puddings, pasties, and minced-pies. And whilst that Christmas doth abide Let butt'ry-door stand open wide. Hang up those churls that will not feast Or with good fellows be a guest, And hang up those would take away The observation of that day; O may they never minced-pies eat, Plum-pudding, roast-beef, nor such meat. But blest be they, awake and sleep, Who at that time a good house keep; May never want come nigh their door, Who at that time relieve the poor; Be plenty always in their house Of beef, veal, lamb, pork, mutton, souse.

_Poor Robin's Almanac._

THRICE WELCOME!

Now thrice welcome, Christmas, Which brings us good cheer, Minced-pies and plum porridge, Good ale and strong beer; With pig, goose, and capon, The best that may be, So well doth the weather And our stomachs agree.

Observe how the chimneys Do smoke all about; The cooks are providing For dinner, no doubt; But those on whose tables No victuals appear, O may they keep Lent All the rest of the year.

With holly and ivy So green and so gay, We deck up our houses As fresh as the day; With bay and rosemary And laurel complete; And every one now Is a king in conceit.

_Poor Robin's Almanac._

CHRISTMAS PROVENDER.

Provide for Christmas ere that it do come, To feast thy neighbor good cheer to have some; Good bread and drink, a fire in the hall, Brawn, pudding, souse, and good mustard withal. Beef, mutton, pork, and shred pies of the best, Pig, veal, goose, capon, and turkey well drest; Apples and nuts to throw about the hall, That boys and girls may scramble for them all. Sing jolly carols, make the fiddlers play, Let scrupulous fanatics keep away; For oftentimes seen no arranter knave Than some who do counterfeit most to be grave.

_Poor Robin's Almanac._

GLEE AND SOLACE.

With merry glee and solace This second day of Christmas Now comes in bravely to my master's house, Where plenty of good cheer I see, With that which most contenteth me, As brawn and bacon, powdered beef, and souse.

For the love of Stephen, That blessed saint of heaven, Which stonéd was for Jesus Christ his sake, Let us all, both more and less, Cast away all heaviness, And in a sober manner merry make.

He was a man belovéd, And his faith approvéd By suffering death on this holy day, Where he with gentle patience And a constant sufferance, Hath taught us all to heaven the ready way.

So let our mirth be civil, That not one thought of evil May take possession of our hearts at all, So shall we love and favor get Of them that kindly thus do set Their bounties here so freely in this hall.

Of delicates so dainty, I see now here is plenty Upon this table ready here prepared; Then let us now give thanks to those That all things friendly thus bestows, Esteeming not this world that is so hard.

For of the same my master Hath made me here a taster; The Lord above requite him for the same! And so to all within this house I will drink a full carouse, With leave of my good master and my dame.

And the Lord be praised My stomach is well eased, My bones at quiet may go take their rest; Good fortune surely follow me To bring me thus so luckily To eat and drink so freely of the best.

_New Christmas Carols, A.D. 1661._

ON SAINT JOHN'S DAY.

In honor of Saint John we thus Do keep good Christmas cheer; And he that comes to dine with us, I think he need not spare. The butcher he hath killed good beef, The caterer brings it in; But Christmas pies are still the chief, If that I durst begin.

Our bacon-hogs are full and fat To make us brawn and souse; Full well may I rejoice thereat To see them in the house. But yet the minced-pie it is That sets my teeth on water; Good mistress, let me have a bit, For I do long thereafter.

And I will fetch you water in To brew and bake withal, Your love and favor still to win When as you please to call. Then grant me, dame, your love and leave To taste your pie-meat here; It is the best, in my conceit, Of all your Christmas-cheer.

The cloves, and mace, and gallant plums That here on heaps do lie, And prunes as big as both my thumbs, Enticeth much mine eye. Oh, let me eat my belly-full Of your good Christmas-pie; Except thereat I have a pull, I think I sure shall die.

Good master, stand my loving friend, For Christmas-time is short, And when it comes unto an end I may no longer sport; Then while it doth continue here, Let me such labor find To eat my fill of that good cheer That best doth please my mind.

Then I shall thank my dame therefore, That gives her kind consent That Jack, your boy, with others more, May have this Christmas spent In pleasant mirth and merry glee, As young men most delight; For that's the only sport for me, And so God give you all good-night.

_New Christmas Carols, A.D. 1661._

CHRISTMAS ALMS.

Now that the time is come wherein Our Saviour Christ was born, The larders full of beef and pork, The garners filled with corn; As God hath plenty to thee sent, Take comfort of thy labors, And let it never thee repent To feast thy needy neighbors.

Let fires in every chimney be That people they may warm them; Tables with dishes covered,-- Good victuals will not harm them. With mutton, veal, beef, pig, and pork, Well furnish every board; Plum-pudding, furmety, and what Thy stock will them afford.

No niggard of thy liquor be, Let it go round thy table; People may freely drink, but not So long as they are able. Good customs they may be abused, Which makes rich men to slack us; This feast is to relieve the poor, And not to drunken Bacchus.

This, if thou doest, 'Twill credit raise thee; God will thee bless, And neighbors praise thee.

_Poor Robin's Almanac._

CHRISTMAS AT THE ROUND TABLE.

The great King Arthur made a royal feast, And held his Royal Christmas at Carlisle, And thither came the vassals, most and least, From every corner of the British Isle; And all were entertained, both man and beast, According to their rank, in proper style; The steeds were fed and littered in the stable, The ladies and the knights sat down to table.

The bill of fare (as you may well suppose) Was suited to those plentiful old times, Before our modern luxuries arose, With truffles, and ragouts, and various crimes; And, therefore, from the original in prose I shall arrange the catalogue in rhymes: They served up salmon, venison and wild boars By hundreds, and by dozens, and by scores.

Hogsheads of honey, kilderkins of mustard, Muttons, and fatted beeves, and bacon swine; Herons and bitterns, peacocks, swan, and bustard, Teal, mallard, pigeons, widgeons, and, in fine. Plum-puddings, pancakes, apple-pies, and custard, And therewithal they drank good Gascon wine, With mead, and ale, and cider of our own; For porter, punch, and negus were not known.

All sorts of people there were seen together, All sorts of characters, all sorts of dresses; The fool with fox's tail and peacock feather, Pilgrims, and penitents, and grave burgesses; The country people with their coats of leather, Vintners and victuallers with cans and messes, Grooms, archers, varlets, falconers, and yeomen, Damsels, and waiting-maids, and waiting-women.

_John Hookham Frere._

_Lullaby._

"Sleep, my little one, Sleep, my pretty one, Sleep."

_Tennyson._

A CAROL AT THE MANGER.

Lully, lulla, thow littel tine child; By, by, lully, lullay, thow littell tyne child; By, by, lully, lullay.

O sisters too! how may we do, For to preserve this day This pore yongling, for whom we do sing By, by, lully, lullay.

Herod the King, in his raging, Chargid he hath this day His men of might, in his owne sight, All yonge children to slay.

That wo is me, pore child for the! And ever morne and day, For the parting nether say nor singe By, by, lully, lullay.

_Coventry Mysteries._

A DREAM CAROL.

Ah, my dear Son, said Mary, ah, my dear, Kiss thy mother, Jesu, with a laughing cheer!

This endnes[G] night I saw a sight All in my sleep, Mary, that May, she sung lullay And sore did weep; To keep, she sought, full fast about Her Son from cold. Joseph said, Wife, my joy, my life, Say what ye would. Nothing, my spouse, is in this house Unto my pay;[H] My Son a king, that made all thing, Lieth in hay. Ah, my dear Son! etc.

My mother dear, amend your cheer And now be still; Thus for to lie it is soothly My Father's will. Derision, great passion, Infinitely, As it is found many a wound Suffer shall I; On Calvary that is so high There shall I be, Man to restore, nailéd full sore Upon a tree. Ah, my dear Son! etc.

_Sandy's Christmas Carols._

FOOTNOTES:

[G] Last.

[H] Content.

THE KING IN THE CRADLE.

My sweet little baby, what meanest thou to cry? Be still, my blesséd babe, though cause thou hast to mourn, Whose blood most innocent to shed the cruel king hath sworn; And lo, alas! behold what slaughter he doth make, Shedding the blood of infants all, sweet Saviour, for thy sake. A King, a King is born, they say, which King this king would kill: O woe and woful heavy day when wretches have their will! Lulla, la lulla, lulla lullaby.

Three kings this King of kings to see are come from far, To each unknown, with offerings great, by guiding of a star; And shepherds heard the song, which angels bright did sing, Giving all glory unto God for coming of this King, Which must be made away--King Herod would him kill; O woe and woful heavy day when wretches have their will? Lulla, etc.

Lo, lo, my little babe, be still, lament no more; From fury thou shalt step aside, help have we still in store: We heavenly warning have some other soil to seek; From death must fly the Lord of life, as lamb both mild and meek: Thus must my babe obey the king that would him kill; O woe and woful heavy day when wretches have their will! Lulla, etc.

But thou shalt live and reign, as sibyls hath foresaid, As all the prophets prophesy, whose mother, yet a maid And perfect virgin pure, with her breasts shall upbreed Both God and man that all hath made, the son of heavenly seed: Whom caitives none can 'tray, whom tyrants none can kill: O joy and joyful happy day when wretches want their will! Lulla, etc.

_Byrd's Psalmes, Sonets, etc., A.D. 1588._

MADONNA AND CHILD.

This endris night[I] I saw a sight, A star as bright as day; And ever among A maiden sung, Lullay, by by, lullay.

This lovely lady sat and sang, and to her child she said,-- "My son, my brother, my father dear, why liest thou thus in hayd?[J] My sweet bird, Thus it is betide Though thou be king veray; But, nevertheless, I will not cease To sing, by by, lullay."

The child then spake; in his talking he to his mother said,-- "I bekid[K] am king, in crib though I be laid; For angels bright Down to me light, Thou knowest it is no nay, And of that sight Thou mayest be light To sing, by by, lullay."

"Now, sweet Son, since thou art king, why art thou laid in stall? Why not thou ordain thy bedding in some great kingès hall? Methinketh it is right That king or knight Should be in good array; And them among It were no wrong To sing, by by, lullay."

"Mary, mother, I am thy child, though I be laid in stall, Lords and dukes shall worship me and so shall kingès all. Ye shall well see That kingès three Shall come on the twelfth day; For this behest Give me thy breast And sing, by by, lullay."

"Now tell me, sweet Son, I thee pray, thou art my love and dear, How should I keep thee to thy pay[L] and make thee glad of cheer? For all thy will I would fulfil Thou weet'st full well in fay, And for all this I will thee kiss, And sing, by by, lullay."

"My dear mother, when time it be, take thou me up aloft, And set me upon thy knee and handle me full soft. And in thy arm Thou wilt me warm, And keep me night and day; If I weep And may not sleep Thou sing, by by, lullay."

"Now, sweet Son, since it is so, all things are at thy will, I pray thee grant to me a boon if it be right and skill, That child or man, That will or can, Be merry upon my day; To bliss them bring, And I shall sing, Lullay, by by, lullay."

FOOTNOTES:

[I] Endris night: last night.

[J] Hay.

[K] Nevertheless.

[L] Peace.

A ROCKING HYMN.

Sweet baby, sleep; what ails my dear? What ails my darling thus to cry? Be still, my child, and lend thine ear To hear me sing thy lullaby. My pretty lamb, forbear to weep; Be still, my dear; sweet baby, sleep.

Thou blessed soul, what canst thou fear? What things to thee can mischief do? Thy God is now thy Father dear; His holy Spouse thy Mother, too. Sweet baby, then, forbear to weep; Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep.

Whilst thus thy lullaby I sing, For thee great blessings ripening be; Thine eldest brother is a king, And hath a kingdom bought for thee. Sweet baby, then, forbear to weep; Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep.

Sweet baby, sleep, and nothing fear, For whosoever thee offends, By thy protector threatened are, And God and angels are thy friends. Sweet baby, then, forbear to weep; Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep.

When God with us was dwelling here, In little babes he took delight: Such innocents as thou, my dear, Are ever precious in his sight. Sweet baby, then, forbear to weep; Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep.

A little infant once was he, And Strength-in-Weakness then was laid Upon his Virgin-Mother's knee, That power to thee might be conveyed. Sweet baby, then, forbear to weep; Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep.

In this thy frailty and thy need He friends and helpers doth prepare, Which thee shall cherish, clothe, and feed, For of thy weal they tender are. Sweet baby, then, forbear to weep; Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep.

The King of kings, when he was born, Had not so much for outward ease; By him such dressings were not worn, Nor such-like swaddling-clothes as these. Sweet baby, then, forbear to weep; Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep.

Within a manger lodged thy Lord, Where oxen lay and asses fed; Warm rooms we do to thee afford, An easy cradle or a bed. Sweet baby, then, forbear to weep; Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep.

The wants that he did then sustain Have purchased wealth, my babe, for thee, And by his torments and his pain Thy rest and ease secured be. My baby, then, forbear to weep; Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep.

Thou hast (yet more), to perfect this, A promise and an earnest got Of gaining everlasting bliss, Though thou, my babe, perceiv'st it not. Sweet baby, then, forbear to weep; Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep.

_George Wither._

A CRADLE-SONG OF THE VIRGIN.

The Virgin stills the crying Of Jesus, sleepless lying; And singing for his pleasure, Thus calls upon her treasure, "My darling, do not weep, my Jesu, sleep!"

O lamb, my love inviting, O star, my soul delighting, O flower of mine own bearing, O jewel past comparing! My darling, etc.

My Child, of might indwelling, My sweet, all sweets excelling, Of bliss the fountain flowing, The dayspring ever glowing My darling, etc.

My joy, my exultation, My spirit's consolation; My son, my spouse, my brother, O listen to thy mother! My darling, etc.

Say, would'st thou heavenly sweetness, Or love of answering meetness? Or is fit music wanting? Ho! angels, raise your chanting! My darling, etc.

_Translated from the Latin by Rev. H. R. Bramley._

WHISPERING PALMS.

Holy angels and blest, Through these Palms as ye sweep, Hold their branches at rest, For my Babe is asleep.

And ye, Bethlehem palm-trees, As stormy winds rush In tempest and fury Your angry noise hush;-- Move gently, move gently, Restrain your wild sweep; Hold your branches at rest-- My Babe is asleep.

_Lope de Vega._

A CHRISTMAS LULLABY.

Sleep, baby, sleep! The Mother sings; Heaven's angels kneel and fold their wings: Sleep, baby, sleep!

With swathes of scented hay thy bed By Mary's hand at eve was spread. Sleep, baby, sleep!

At midnight came the shepherds, they Whom seraphs wakened by the way. Sleep, baby, sleep!

And three kings from the East afar Ere dawn came, guided by thy star. Sleep, baby, sleep!

They brought thee gifts of gold and gems, Pure orient pearls, rich diadems. Sleep, baby, sleep!

But thou who liest slumbering there, Art King of kings, earth, ocean, air. Sleep, baby, sleep!

Sleep, baby, sleep! The shepherds sing: Through heaven, through earth, hosannas ring. Sleep, baby, sleep!

_John Addington Symonds._

THE VIRGIN'S CRADLE-HYMN.

Dormi, Jesu! Mater ridet Quæ tam dulcem somnum videt, Dormi, Jesu! blandule! Si non dormis, Mater plorat Inter fila cantans orat, Blande, veni, somnule.

_Translation._

Sleep, sweet babe! my cares beguiling: Mother sits beside thee smiling; Sleep, my darling, tenderly! If thou sleep not, mother mourneth, Singing as her wheel she turneth: Come soft slumber, balmily!

_Samuel Taylor Coleridge._

THE SOVEREIGN.

Upon my lap my sovereign sits And sucks upon my breast; Meantime his love maintains my life And gives my sense her rest. Sing lullaby, my little boy, Sing lullaby, mine only joy!

When thou hast taken thy repast, Repose, my babe, on me; So may thy mother and thy nurse Thy cradle also be. Sing lullaby, my little boy, Sing lullaby, mine only joy!

I grieve that duty doth not work All that my wishing would, Because I would not be to thee But in the best I should. Sing lullaby, my little boy, Sing lullaby, mine only joy!

Yet as I am, and as I may I must and will be thine, Though all too little for thyself Vouchsafing to be mine. Sing lullaby, my little boy, Sing lullaby, mine only joy!

_Martin Peerson, A.D. 1620._

BY THE CRADLE-SIDE.

Sweet dreams, form a shade O'er my lovely infant's head! Sweet dreams of pleasant streams By happy, silent, moony beams!

Sweet sleep, with soft down Weave thy brows an infant crown! Sweet sleep, angel mild, Hover o'er my happy child!

Sweet smiles, in the night Hover over my delight! Sweet smiles, mother's smile All the livelong night beguile.

Sweet moans, dovelike sighs, Chase not slumber from thine eyes! Sweet moan, sweeter smile, All the dovelike moans beguile!

Sleep, sleep, happy child! All creation slept and smiled. Sleep, sleep, happy sleep, While o'er thee doth mother weep.

Sweet babe, in thy face Holy image I can trace; Sweet babe, once like thee Thy Maker lay and wept for me:

Wept for me, for thee, for all, When he was an infant small; Thou his image ever see, Heavenly face that smiles on thee!

Smiles on thee, on me, on all, Who became an infant small, Infant smiles are his own smiles: Heaven and earth to peace beguiles.

_William Blake._

THE VIRGIN MARY TO THE CHILD JESUS.

But see, the Virgin blest Hath laid her babe to rest.

_Milton._

I.

Sleep, sleep, mine Holy One! My flesh, my Lord!--what name? I do not know A name that seemeth not too high or low, Too far from me or heaven. My Jesus, that is best! that word being given By the majestic angel whose command Was softly as a man's beseeching said, When I and all the earth appeared to stand In the great overflow Of light celestial from his wings and head. Sleep, sleep, my saving One!

II.

And art Thou come for saving, baby-browed And speechless Being--art Thou come for saving? The palm that grows beside our door is bowed By treadings of the low wind from the south, A restless shadow through the chamber waving: Upon its bough a bird sings in the sun; But Thou, with that close slumber on thy mouth, Dost seem of wind and sun already weary. Art come for saving, O my weary One?

III.