And the nuns of the Fosse--for wassail-bread--
Let them have wheat, both white and red;
And a runlet of mead, with a jug of the wine
Which the merchant-man vowed he brought from the Rhine;
And bid Hugh say that their bells must ring
A peal loud and long,
While we chaunt heart-song,
For the birth of our heavenly king!"

Now merrily ring the lady-bells
Of the nunnery by the Fosse:--
Say the hinds, "Their silver music swells
Like the blessed angels' syllables,
At his birth who bore the cross!"

And solemnly swells saint Leonard's chime
And the great bell loud and deep:--
Say the gossips, "Let's talk of the holy time
When the shepherds watched their sheep;
And the Babe was born for all souls' crime
In the weakness of flesh to weep."--
But, anon, shrills the pipe of the merry mime,
And their simple hearts upleap.

"God save your souls, good Christian folk!
God save your souls from sin!--
Blythe Yule is come--let us blythely joke!"--
Cry the mummers, ere they begin.

Then, plough-boy Jack, in kirtle gay,--
Though shod with clouted shoon,--
Stands forth the wilful maid to play
Who ever saith to her lover "Nay"--
When he sues for a lover's boon.

While Hob the smith with sturdy arm
Circleth the feigned maid;
And, spite of Jack's assumed alarm,
Busseth his lips, like a lover warm,
And will not "Nay" be said.

Then loffe the gossips, as if wit
Were mingled with the joke:--
Gentles,--they were with folly smit,--
Natheless, their memories acquit
Of crime--these simple folk!

No harmful thoughts their revels blight,--
Devoid of bitter hate and spite,
They hold their merriment;--
And, till the chimes tell noon at night,
Their joy shall be unspent!

"Come haste ye to bold Thorold's hall,
And crowd his kitchen wide;
For there, he saith, both free and thrall
Shall sport this good Yule-tide!

"Come hasten, gossips!" the mummers cry,
Throughout old Torksey town;
"We'll hasten!" they answer, joyfully,
The gossip and the clown.

Heigho! whence cometh that cheery shout?
'Tis the Yule-log troop,--a merry rout!
The gray old ash that so bravely stood,
The pride of the Past, in Thorney wood,[5]
They have levelled for honour of welcome Yule;
And kirtled Jack is placed astride:
On the log to the grunsel[6] he shall ride!

"Losels, yoke all! yoke to, a