lo, now is e our joyfulst feast!
let every man be jolly.
eache roome with yvie leaves is drest,
and every post with holly.
now all our neighbours eys smoke,
and christmas blocks are burning;
their ovens they with bakt meats choke
and all their spits are turning.
without the door let sorrow lie,
and if, for cold, it hap to die,
weel bury t in a christmas pye,
and evermore be merry.