"Let the merry bells ring loud!" he saith To saint Leonard's shaven prior;[4] "Bid thy losel monks that patter of faith Shew works, and never tire." Saith the lord of saint Leonard's: "The brotherhood Will ring and never tire For a beck or a nod of the Baron good;"-- Saith Sir Wilfrid: "They will--for hire!" Then, turning to his daughter fair, Who leaned on her father's carven chair,-- He said,--and smiled On his peerless child,-- His jewel whose price no clerk could tell, Though the clerk had told Sea sands for gold;-- For her dear mother's sake he loved her well,-- But more for the balm her tenderness Had poured on his widowed heart's distress;-- More, still more, for her own heart's grace That so lovelily shone in her lovely face, And drew all eyes its love to trace-- Left all tongues languageless!-- He said,--and smiled On his peerless child, "Sweet bird! bid Hugh our seneschal Send to saint Leonard's, ere even-fall, A fat fed beeve, and a two-shear sheep, With a firkin of ale that a monk in his sleep May hear to hum, when it feels the broach, And wake up and swig, without reproach!-- And the nuns of the Fosse--for wassail-bread-- Let them have wheat, both white and red; And a runlet of mead, with a jug of the wine Which the merchant-man vowed he brought from the Rhine; And bid Hugh say that their bells must ring A peal loud and long, While we chaunt heart-song, For the birth of our heavenly king!" Now merrily ring the lady-bells Of the nunnery by the Fosse:-- Say the hinds, "Their silver music swells Like the blessed angels' syllables, At his birth who bore the cross!" And solemnly swells saint Leonard's chime And the great bell loud and deep:-- Say the gossips, "Let's talk of the holy time When the shepherds watched their sheep; And the Babe was born for all souls' crime In the weakness of flesh to weep."-- But, anon, shrills the pipe of the merry mime, And their simple hearts upleap. "God save your souls, good Christian folk! God save your souls from sin!-- Blythe Yule is come--let us blythely joke!"-- Cry the mummers, ere they begin. Then, plough-boy Jack, in kirtle gay,-- Though shod with clouted shoon,-- Stands forth the wilful maid to play Who ever saith to her lover "Nay"-- When he sues for a lover's boon. While Hob the smith with sturdy arm Circleth the feignëd maid; And, spite of Jack's assumed alarm, Busseth his lips, like a lover warm, And will not "Nay" be said. Then loffe the gossips, as if wit Were mingled with the joke:-- Gentles,--they were with folly smit,-- Natheless, their memories acquit Of crime--these simple folk!