to thee."

_Old Carol._

WASSAIL.

Give way, give way, ye gates, and win
An easy blessing to your bin
And basket, by our entering in.

May both with manchet[T] stand replete,
Your larders, too, so hung with meat,
That though a thousand thousand eat,

Yet ere twelve moons shall whirl about
Their silvery spheres, there's none may doubt
But more's sent in than was served out.

Next, may your dairies prosper so
As that your pans no ebb may know;
But if they do, the more to flow,

Like to a solemn, sober stream,
Banked all with lilies, and the cream
Of sweetest cowslips filling them.

Then may your plants be pressed with fruit,
Nor bee or hive you have be mute,
But sweetly sounding like a lute.

Last, may your harrows, shares, and ploughs,
Your stacks, your stocks, your sweetest mows,
All prosper by your virgin vows.

Alas! we bless, but see none here,
That brings us either ale or beer;
In a dry house all things are near.

Let's leave a longer time to wait,
Where rust and cobwebs bind the gate;
And all live here with needy fate;

Where chimneys do forever weep
For want of warmth, and stomachs keep
With noise the servants' eyes from sleep.

It is in vain to sing or stay
Our free feet here, but we'll away;
Yet to the Lares this we'll say:

The time will come when you'll be sad,
And reckon this for fortune bad,
T' have lost the good ye might have had.

_Robert Herrick._

FOOTNOTE:

[T] White bread.

INVITATION A FAIRE NOEL.

(FROM THE FRENCH OF THE TWELFTH CENTURY.)

Hail, good Masters, let us bide,
Hither come from travel wide,
This Christmas-tide.
Hearken, give us bed and cheer,
We are weary, life is dear
This day o' the year!
God send ye joy and peace on earth,
Who broach good cheer for Christe's birth.

Masters, an ye make no feast:
Spiced ale and meat of beast,
Nor laugh the least:
If ye fill not pantries high
With bread, and fish, and mammoth pie,
And sweets, pardie!--
God ordains no peace on earth
To ye who fast at Christe's birth.

Masters, it is writ of old
Who fill the fire for Christmas cold
And wassail hold,
Shall have of food a double store
And ruddy-blazing ingle roar
Forevermore.
God sends the peace of heave