TRANSLATION. Now, lordings, listen to our ditty, Strangers coming from afar; Let poor minstrels move your pity, Give us welcome, soothe our care: In this mansion, as they tell us, Christmas wassell keeps to-day; And, as the king of all good fellows, Reigns with uncontrouled sway. Lordings, in these realms of pleasure, Father Christmas yearly dwells; Deals out joy with liberal measure, Gloomy sorrow soon dispels: Numerous guests, and viands dainty, Fill the hall and grace the board; Mirth and beauty, peace and plenty, Solid pleasures here afford. Lordings, 'tis said the liberal mind, That on the needy much bestows, From Heav'n a sure reward shall find; From Heav'n, whence ev'ry blessing flows. Who largely gives with willing hand, Or quickly gives with willing heart, His fame shall spread throughout the land, His mem'ry thence shall ne'er depart. Lordings, grant not your protection To a base unworthy crew, But cherish, with a kind affection, Men that are loyal, good, and true. Chase from your hospitable dwelling Swinish souls that ever crave; Virtue they can ne'er excel in, Gluttons never can be brave. Lordings, Christmas loves good drinking. Wines of Gascoigne, France, Anjou, English ale that drives out thinking, Prince of liquors, old or new. Every neighbour shares the bowl, Drinks of the spicy liquor deep, Drinks his fill without controul, Till he drowns his care in sleep. And now--by Christmas, jolly soul! By this mansion's generous sieur! By the wine, and by the bowl, And all the joys they both inspire! Here I'll drink a health to all: The glorious task shall first be mine: And ever may foul luck befall Him that to pledge me shall decline. THE CHORUS. Hail, Father Christmas! hail to Thee! Honour'd ever shalt thou be! All the sweets that love bestows, Endless pleasures, wait on those Who, like vassals brave and true, Give to Christmas homage due. Wynkyn de Worde first printed Christmas carols in 1521, but there were many MS. carols in existence before then. Here is a very pretty one from Mr. Wright's fifteenth-century MS.:-- To blys God bryng us al and sum. _Christe, redemptor omnium._ In Bedlem, that fayer cyte, Was born a chyld that was so fre, Lord and prince of hey degre, _Jam lucis orto sidere._ Jhesu, for the lowe of the, Chylder wer slayn grett plente In Bedlem, that fayer cyte, _A solis ortus cardine._ As the sune schynyth in the glas, So Jhesu of hys moder borne was; Hym to serve God gyffe us grace, _O Lux beata Trinitas._