Be glad, lords, both more or less, For this hath ordained our steward To cheer you all this Christmas, The boar's head with mustard. On the other side of the leaf of Wynkin de Worde's volume is the following Carol, which, although apparently unconnected with our subjeet, we introduce as one of a class of songs usually sung during the Christmas season. That, in its own day, it was regarded as an undoubted Christmas Carol, is evident from the circumstance of its finding a place amongst Wynkin de Worde's collection, as the leaf which has been preserved, and which is the last of the book, bears the following imprint:— "Thus endeth the Christmasse Carroles, newly enprinted at Londʊ, in fletestrete at the signe of the sonne by Wynkin de Worde. The yere of our lorde, M.D.xxi." A CAROL OF HUNTING. As I came by a green forest side, I met with a forester that bade me abide, Underneath a tree I did me set, I had not stand there but a while, Not the mountenaunce* of a mile, The meaning of this phrase, as used in the present instance, appears to be, "not the time it would occupy to travel a mile.” Carols in Praise of Ale. DURING the continuance of the Christmas banquet, there is no doubt but that a class of Carols were sung, either by the assembled company or by the attendant minstrels, having, for their subject matter, neither reference to the religious origin of the festival, nor to any of the particular ceremonies connected therewith. The following racy drinking songs we may presume to have been of the number, and doubtless they have oftentimes been chaunted forth from the stentorian lungs of many a jovial tippling crew, during the pauses which took place in the serving of the feast. The first one is taken from a manuscript of the commencement of the sixteenth century in the British Museum, and is there intituled, "A Christenmesse Carroll." The others have been extracted from the reprint by Mr. Wright, of the ancient manuscript in his own possession, before alluded to. I. BONE, God wot! Sticks in my throat- Of cornie ale, My life lies in great waste. Some ale or beer, Gentle butler, Some liquor thou us show, Such as you mash Our throats to wash, The best were that you brew. MS. Cott. Vesp. A, xxv., fol. 168, vo. Saint, master, and knight, Were pressed between two stones ; Of his liquor Would make us sing at once. Master Wortley, I dare well say, I tell you as I think, Would not, I say, Bid us this day, But that we should have drink. His men so tall Walk up his hall, With many a comely dish; I cannot eat, Without I drink, I wis. Now give us drink, And let cat wink, I tell you all at once, It sticks so sore, I may sing no more, Till I have drunken once. II. RING us in good ale, and bring us in good ale; CAROLS IN PRAISE OF ALE. Bring us in no brown bread, for that is made of bran; Bring us in no beef, for there are many bones; But bring us in good ale, for that goes down at once; Bring us in no bacon, for that is passing fat; But bring us in good ale, and give us enough of that; Bring us in no mutton, for that is often lean; Bring us in no eggs, for there be many shells; Bring us in no butter, for therein are many hairs; Bring us in no puddings, for they're not over good ; Bring us in no capon's flesh, for that is often dear; Nor bring us in no ducks' flesh, for they slobber in the mere; But bring us in good ale. Good ale, however, like most other things when taken in excess, is attended by certain inconveniences, as the following song, which forms an appropriate moral to the two preceding ones, will serve to explain. |