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The Holy Well.

Sweet Jesus, go down to yonder town
As far as the Holy Well,

And take away those sinful souls,

And dip them deep in hell.

Nay, nay、 sweet Jesus said,
Nay, nay, that may not be ;
For there are too many sinful souls
Crying out for the help of me.

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4

THE HOLLY AND THE IVY.

The Holly and the Ivy,

Now both are full well grown;

Of all the trees that spring in wood, The holly bears the crown.

The holly bears a blossom

As white as a lily flow'r;

And Mary bore sweet Jesus Christ

To be our sweet Saviour.

The holly bears a berry

As red as any blood,

And Mary bore sweet Jesus Christ

To do poor sinners good.

The holly bears a prickle

As sharp as any thorn,

And Mary bore sweet Jesus Christ
On Christmas Day in the morn.

The holly bears a bark

As bitter as any gall,

And Mary bore sweet Jesus Christ

For to redeem us all.

The holly and the ivy

Now are both well grown;

Of all the trees that are in the wood,

The holly bears the crown.

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Holly and his merry men

They dancen and they sing;

Ivy and her maidens

They weepen and they wring.

Ivy hath a kybe,*

Nay, ivy, nay, etc.

She caught it with the cold;

So mot they all have ae,†

That with ivy hold.

Nay, ivy, nay, etc.

* Chapped skin.

† So may all have.

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The nightingale, the popinjay,

The gentle laverock.

Good ivy,

Nay, ivy, nay, etc.

What birdés hast thou?

None but the howlet

That krey *( How, how."

Nay, ivy, nay,

It shall not be, I wis;

Let holly have the mastery,
As the manner is.

* Cries.

Ane Sang of the Birth of Christ.

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ANE SANG OF THE BIRTH OF CHRIST.

A SCOTCH CAROL.

I come from hevin to tell
The best nowellis that ever befell;
To you this tythinges trew I bring,
And I will of them say and sing:

This day to yow is borne ane childe
Of Marie meike and Virgine mylde,
That blessit barne, bining and kynde,
Sall yow rejoyce baith heart and mynd.

My saull and lyfe, stand up and see
Quha lyes in ane cribe of tree,
Quhat babe is that, so gude and faire?
It is Christ, God's sonne and aire.

O God, that made all creature,
How art Thow becum so pure,
That on the hay and stray will lye
Amang the asses, oxin, and kye!

O my deir hert, young Jesus sweit,
Prepare Thy creddill in my spreit,

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