(3) We may assign as the third reason for the prevalent excess--_Convivial Literature_. The name that first suggests itself is that of Herrick. It is not only in poems avowedly of this description, such as ‘The Wassail’ and ‘The Wassail Bowl’ but it is a vein running through the entire seam of his songs. With him, at Christmas-time,-- My good dame, she Bids ye all be free, And drink to your heart’s desiring. In his _New Year’s Gift_, he bids Sir Simeon Steward-- Remember us in cups full crowned, And let our city health go round. Is he singing of Twelfth Night? No sooner is the question of king and queen settled than their health must be drunk:-- And let not a man be seen here, Who unurged will not drink, To the base from the brink, A health to the king and queen here. Next crown the bowl full With gentle lamb’s wool; Add sugar, nutmeg, and ginger, With store of ale too; And thus ye must do To make the wassail a swinger. Of course, ‘True Hospitality’ would be impossible without the favourite ingredient:-- But as thy meat, so thy immortal wine Makes the smirk face of each to shine, And spring fresh rosebuds, while the salt, the wit, Flows from the wine, and graces it. The pretty superstition that wassailing the trees will make them bear, is included among the Christmas Eve ceremonies in his _Hesperides_:-- Wassaile the trees, that they may beare You many a plum and many a peare; For more or lesse fruits they will bring, As you do give them wassailing. The day of this ceremony varies in different localities. In Devonshire the eve of the Epiphany is chosen; there the farmer and his men proceed to the orchard with a huge jug of cider, and forming a circle round a well-bearing tree, drink the toast,-- Here’s to thee, old apple tree, Whence thou mayst bud, and whence thou mayst blow! And whence thou mayst bear apples enow! Hats full! caps full! Bushel, bushel, sacks full, And my pockets full too; huzza![137] Total sustenance (not _abstinence_) was part of his religion. In his exquisite little poem entitled ‘A Thanksgiving for his House’--only to be approached (of its kind) by Bishop Wordsworth’s hymn, ‘Who givest all’--he thanks God, amongst other mercies, for the _wassail bowl_:-- Lord, I confess too, when I dine, The pulse is Thine, And all those other bits that be There placed by Thee. The worts, the purslain, and the mess Of water-cress, Which of Thy kindness Thou hast sent: And my content Makes those, and my beloved beet, To be more sweet. ‘Tis Thou that crown’st my glittering hearth With guiltless mirth; And giv’st me wassail bowls to drink, Spiced to the brink.