A NEW YEAR'S GIFT.

Which sweetly spiced, we'll first carouse Unto the genius of the house;

Then the next health to friends of mine,
Loving the brave Burgundian wine,
High sons of pith,

Whose fortunes I have frolicked with,
Such as could well

Bear up the magic bough and spell,
And dancing 'bout the mystic thyrse,
Give up the just applause to verse.

To those, and then again to thee
We'll drink, my Wickes; until we be
Plump as the cherry,

Though not so fresh, yet full as merry
As the cricket,

*

The untamed heifer, or the pricket ;*
Until our tongues shall tell our ears,
We're younger by a score of years:

Thus, 'till we see the fire less shine From th' embers than the kitling's eyne, We'll still sit up,

Sphering about the Wassail cup

To all those times

Which gave me honour for my rhymes: The coal once spent, we'll then to bed, Far more than night bewearièd.

The buck in his second year.

SENT TO SIR SIMEON STEWARD.

No news of navies burnt at seas;

No news of late-spawned titteries;
No closet-plot, or open vent,

That frights men with a Parliament;
No new device or late-found trick,
To read by th' stars the kingdom's sick;
No gin to catch the state, or wring
The free-born nostrils of the king,
We send to you ;-but here a jolly
Verse, crowned with ivy and with holly,
That tells of winter's tales and mirth,
That milk-maids make about the hearth;
Of Christmas sports, the Wassail bowl,
That's tossed up after Fox-i'th'hole ;*
Of Blind-man's-buff, and of the care
That young men have to shoe the mare;
Of twelfth-tide cake, of peas and beans,†
Wherewith ye make those merry scenes,
When as ye choose your king and queen,
And cry out "Hey for our town green;"
Of ash-heaps, in the which ye use
Husbands and wives by streaks to choose;
Of crackling laurel, which fore-sounds
A plenteous harvest to your grounds ;—
Of these, and such like things, for shift,
We send, instead of new-year's gift.
Read, then, and when your faces shine

With bucksome meat and cap'ring wine,

A very old game: those who took part in it hopped on one leg, and beat each other with leathern thongs, with a view, we presume, of forcing the raised leg to touch the ground.

+ It was formerly the custom to place a bean and a pea in the Twelfth Cake, and the person who obtained the piece containing the former was chosen king, and the latter, queen, of the evening. See the poem on page 87.

A SPELL.

Remember us in cups full crowned,
And let our city health go round,

Quite through the young maids and the men,
To the ninth number, if not ten,

Until the fired chestnuts leap

For joy to see the fruits ye reap,
From the plump chalice and the cup
That tempts till it be tossèd up.
Then as ye sit about your embers,
Call not to mind those fled Decembers;
But think on these, that are t' appear,

As daughters to the instant year;
Sit crowned with rose-buds, and carouse,
Till Liber Pater twirls the house
About your ears, and lay upon

The year, your cares, that's fled and gone.
And let the russet swains the plough
And harrow hang up, resting now;

And to the bag-pipe all address,

Till sleep takes place of weariness.

And thus, throughout, with Christmas plays,
Frolic the full twelve holydays.

The following refers to a custom that prevailed in Devonshire, and other cider counties, of throwing the dregs of the Wassail-bowl against the stems of the best bearing fruit trees, on the eve of Twelfth-day. Further particulars respecting this singular practice are given in the next section.

A SPELL.

ASSAIL the trees, that they may bear
You many a plum and many a pear;
For more or less fruit they will bring,

As you do give them wassailing.

I.

TELL us, thou clear and heavenly tongue,
Where is the Babe that lately sprung?
Lies he the lily-banks among?

II.

Or say, if this new Birth of ours
Sleeps, laid within some ark of flowers,
Spangled with dew-light? thou canst clear
All doubts, and manifest the where.

Declare to us, bright star, if we shall seek
Him in the morning's blushing cheek,
Or search the beds of spices through,

To find him out?

STAR.

No, this ye need not do;

But only come and see Him rest,

A Princely Babe, in 's mother's breast.

CHORUS.

He's seen! He's seen! why then around,

Let's kiss the sweet and holy ground;

And all rejoice that we have found

A King, before conception, crowned.

IV.

Come then, come then, and let us bring

Unto our pretty twelfth-tide King,

Each one his several offering.

CHORUS.

And when night comes we'll give him wassailing;

And that his treble honours may be seen,

We'll choose him King, and make his mother Queen.

TWELFTH NIGHT, OR KING AND QUEEN.

Now, now the mirth comes,

With the cake full of plums,

Where bean's the king of the sport here;

Beside we must know,

The pea also

Must revel as queen in the court here.

Begin then to choose,

This night as you use,

Who shall for the present delight here;

Be a king by the lot,

And who shall not

Be Twelfth-day queen for the night here.

Which known, let us make

Joy-sops with the cake;

And let not a man then be seen here,

Who unurged will not drink,

To the base from the brink,
A health to the king and queen here.

Next crown the bowl full

With gentle lambs' wool;

Add sugar, nutmeg, and ginger,

With store of ale too;

And thus ye must do

To make the wassail a swinger.

Give then to the king

And queen wassailing;

And though with ale ye be wet here,
Yet part ye from hence,

As free from offence,

As when ye innocent met here.