Our American Holidays - Christmas/So, Now is Come Our Joyful'st Feast

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So, now is come our joyfulst feast.
  Let every man be jolly;
Each room with ivy leaves is drest.
  And every post with holly.
Though some churls at our mirth repine,
Round your foreheads garlands twine;
Drown sorrow in a cup of wine.
  And let us all be merry.

Now all our neighbours' chimnies smoke,
  And Christmas logs are burning;
Their ovens they with baked meats choke,
  And all their spits are turning.
Without the door let sorrow lie;
And if for cold it hap to die,
We'll bury't in a Christmas pie,
  And evermore be merry.

Now every lad is wondrous trim,
  And no man minds his labour;
Our lasses have provided them
  A bag-pipe and a tabor;
Young men and maids, and girls and boys,
Give life to one another's joys;
And you anon shall by their noise
  Perceive that they are merry.

Rank misers now do sparing shun;
  Their hall of music soundeth;
And dogs thence with whole shoulders run,
  So all things there aboundeth.
The country folks themselves advance
For crowdy-mutton's[1] come out of France;
And Jack shall pipe, and Jill shall dance,
  And all the town be merry.

  1. Fiddlers.