I lov'd a lass, a fair one, As fair as e'er was seen; She was indeed a rare one, Another Sheba Queen. But, fool as then I was, I thought she lov'd me too: But now, alas! she's left me, Falero, lero, loo. Her hair like gold did glister, Each eye was like a star, She did surpass her sister, Which pass'd all others far; She would me honey call, She'd, oh--she'd kiss me too: But now, alas! she's left me, Falero, lero, loo. Many a merry meeting My love and I have had; She was my only sweeting, She made my heart full glad; The tears stood in her eyes, Like to the morning dew: But now, alas! she's left me, Falero, lero, loo. Her cheeks were like the cherry, Her skin as white as snow; When she was blythe and merry, She angel-like did show; Her waist exceeding small, The fives did fit her shoe: But now, alas! she's left me, Falero, lero, loo. In summer time or winter She had her heart's desire; I still did scorn to stint her From sugar, sack, or fire; The world went round about, No cares we ever knew: But now, alas! she's left me, Falero, lero, loo. To maidens' vows and swearing Henceforth no credit give; You may give them the hearing, But never them believe; They are as false as fair, Unconstant, frail, untrue: For mine, alas! hath left me, Falero, lero, loo. CHRISTMAS So now is come our joyfullest part; Let every man be jolly; Each room with ivy-leaves is dressed, And every post with holly. Though some churls at our mirth repine, Round your foreheads garlands twine, Drown sorrow in a cup of wine, And let us all be merry! Now all our neighbours' chimneys smoke, And Christmas-blocks are burning; Their ovens they with baked meat choke, And all their spits are turning. Without the door let sorrow lie; And, if for cold it hap to die, We'll bury it in a Christmas pie And evermore be merry! Rank misers now do sparing shun; Their hall of music soundeth; And dogs thence with whole shoulders run; So all things there aboundeth. The country folks themselves advance With crowdy-muttons out of France; And Jack shall pipe, and Jill shall dance, And all the town be merry! Good farmers in the country nurse The poor that else were undone; Some landlords spend their money worse, On lust and pride in London. There the roysters they do play, Drab and dice their lands away, Which may be ours another day, And therefore let's be merry! The client now his suit forbears; The prisoner's heart is easèd; The debtor drinks away his cares, And for the time is pleasèd. Though other's purses be more fat, Why should we pine or grieve at that? Hang sorrow! care will kill a cat, And therefore let's be merry!