Invitation à Faire Noël.

105

INVITATION À FAIRE NOËL.

(FROM THE FRENCH OF THE TWELFTH CENTURY.)

Hail, good Masters, let us bide,

Hither come from travel wide,

This Christmas-tide.

Hearken, give us bed and cheer,

We are weary, life is dear

This day o' the year!

God send ye joy and peace on earth,
Who broach good cheer for Christé's birth.

Masters, an ye make no feast:

Spicéd ale and meat of beast,

Nor laugh the least:

If ye fill not pantries high

With bread, and fish, and mammoth pie,

And sweets, pardie!

God ordains no peace on earth

То ye who fast at Christé's birth.

Masters, it is writ of old

Who fill the fire for Christmas cold

And wassail hold,

Shall have of food a double store

And ruddy-blazing ingle roar

Forevermore.

God sends the peace of heaven and earth To men who carol Christé's birth.

O Masters! let nor hate nor spite

Mar the tongue of any wight

"Twixt night and night.

Botun, batun-belabor well

Churls who sleep through matin bell

And no soothe tell.

God will forfeit peace on earth

If men fall out at Christé's birth.

Christmas tipples every wine,
English, French, and Gascon fine
And Angevine;

Clinks with neighbor and with guest,
Empties casks with gibe and jest—

The year's for rest!

God sends to men the joy of earth
Who broach good cheer for Christé's birth.

But hearken, Masters, ere ye drink
While yet the bubbles boil and wink
At the brink;

Ere ye lift the pot aloft,

Merrily wave it, laughing oft,

With hood well doft.

And if I cry ye, sad, "Wesseyl!"

Woe's him who answers not " Drinchayl!"

Translated by H. S. M.

A Thanksgiving.

107

A THANKSGIVING.

Lord, I confess too, when I dine,
The pulse is Thine,

And all those other bits that be

There placed by Thee;

The worts, the purslane, and the mess
Of water-cress,

Which of Thy kindness Thou hast sent;
And my content
Makes those and my beloved beet
To be more sweet.

'Tis Thou that crown'st my glittering hearth With guiltless mirth,

And giv'st me wassail-bowls to drink
Spiced to the brink.

Robert Herrick.

AROUND THE WASSAIL-BOWL.

A jolly wassail-bowl,

A wassail of good ale; Well fare the butler's soul That setteth this to sale;

Our jolly wassail.

Good dame, here at your door
Our wassail we begin,

We are all maidens poor,

We pray now let us in

With our wassail.

Our wassail we do fill

With apples and with spice, Then grant us your good-will To taste here once or twice

If any maidens be

Of our good wassail.

Here dwelling in this house,

They kindly will agree

To take a full carouse

Of our wassail.

Around the Wassail-Bowl.

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But here they let us stand
All freezing in the cold:
Good master, give command
To enter and be bold,

With our wassail.

Much joy into this hall
With us is entered in,

Our master first of all
We hope will now begin

Of our wassail.

And after, his good wife
Our spicéd bowl will try;
The Lord prolong your life!

Good fortune we espy

For our wassail.

Some bounty from your hands
Our Wassail to maintain;
We'll buy no house nor lands
With that which we do gain
With our wassail.

This is our merry night

Of choosing king and queen;

Then be it your delight

That something may be seen

In our wassail.