A CHRISTMAS SONG.* BY J. WITHERS. [About 1630.] So, now is come our joyfullest feast, Each room with ivy leaves is dressed, Though some churls at our mirth repine, Round your foreheads garlands twine— Now, all our neighbours' chimneys smoke, * This song has been inserted, as containing a curious and faithful description of the Christmas manners of our ancestors: in some points, doubtless, degenerating sadly into evil and intemperance, and therefore open to animadversion; but in others, exhibiting a benevolence and simplicity of character which, it is much to be lamented, in our more advanced days is becoming obsolete and neglected, and in danger of complete extinction. Without the door let sorrow lie; Now every lad is wond'rous trim, Our lasses have provided them 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, And dogs thence with whole shoulders run— The country folks themselves advance, With croudy muttons out of France; And Jack shall pipe, and Jill shall dance, And all the town be merry! Ned Squash hath fetched his bands from pawn, And all his best apparel; Brisk Nell hath bought a ruff of lawn, With droppings of the barrel. And those that hardly, all the year, Had bread to eat or rags to wear, Will have both clothes and dainty fare, Now poor men to the Justices With capons make their errants, And if they hap to fail of these, They plague them with their warrants;— But now they feed them with good cheer, Good farmers in the country nurse The client now his suit forbears- Hark! how the wags abroad do call For nuts and apples scrambling. The wenches with their wassel bowls, Our kitchen-boy hath broke his box; Our honest neighbours come by flocks, And here they will be merry! Now kings and queens poor sheep-cotes have, The honest now may play the knave, And wise men play the noddy. Some youths will now a mumming go Some others play at Rowland-bo, And twenty other games boys mo', Then, wherefore in these merry days, JAMIESON. "This was the festival of Christmas in its original institution. Then were the house, the board, the arms, and the heart, open to the stranger, the friendless, the fatherless, and the widow; and the poor tenant was welcomed and levelled with his lord. Alas! these happy times are now vanished: the great era of the Christian redemption is now remembered in nothing but the name. That spirit of irreligion which is gone out into the world, together with its vile and genuine offspring-the sordid, selfish, insatiable spirit of avarice and private luxury,-have either devoured or driven away the generous and the God-like spirit of public hospitality, attended with innocent and social mirth. Or, if there be yet any remains of the ancient and hospitable festivity, they are, for the most part, such only as are seeu in revels and riots, bringing reproach and infamy upon this sacred and solemn Festival."-From Dr. Delaney's Works. 1754. It is perhaps needless to add, that this extract has no connexion with the preceding. THE KINGES BALADE. A SONG of the time of Henry VIII.; said to have been, at some period of his reign, a great favourite with that monarch. It has even been deemed his own composition; but this Mr. Evans thinks unfounded. Hunt, sing, and dance, My heart is set; All godly sport, To my comfort, Who shall me let. § Youth will have needs dalliance, |