Lo, now is come the joyful'st feast !
Let every man be jolly, Eache roome with yvie leaves is drest,
And every post with holly. Now all our neighbours' chimneys smoke.
And Christmas blocks are burning ; Their ovens they with bak't meats choke, And all their spits are turning. Without the door let sorrow lie, And if, for cold, it hap to die, We'll bury't in a Christmas pye, And evermore be merry.