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lirik lagu tim graham - ben jonson - the masque of christmas

now god preserve, as you well doe deserve
your majesties all, two there;
your highnesse small, with my good lords all
and ladies, how doe you do there?
gi’me leave to aske, for i bring you a masque
from little little little little london;
which say the king likes, i ha’passed the pikes
if not, old christmas is undone

ovr dances freight, is a matter of eight
and two, the which are wenches;
in all they be ten, foure c~ckes to a hen
and will swim to the time like tenches
each hath his knight, for to carry his light
which some would say are torches;
to bring them here, and to lead them there
and home againe to their owne porches

now their intent, is above to present
with all the appurtenances
a right christmas, as of old it was
to be gathered out of the dances
which they doe bring, and afore the king
the queene, and prince, as it were now
drawne here by love; who, over and aboue
doth draw himselfe i’the geere too
hum drum, sauce for a coney;
no more of your martiall musicke:
even for the sake, o’the next new stake
for there i doe meane to use it

and now to yee, who in place are to see
with roll and farthingale hooped:
i pray you know, though he want his bow
by the wings, that this is cupid

he might goe backe, for to cry what you lack
but that were not so wittie:
his cap, and coat, are enough to note
that he is the love o’the cittie

and he leades on, though he now begon
for that was onely his~rule:
but now comes in, tom of bosomes inne
and he presenteth mis~rule

which you may know, by the very show
albeit you never aske it:
for there you may see what his ensignes bee
the rope, the cheese, and the basket

this carol plaies, and has beene in his dayes
a chirping boy, and a k!ll pot:
kit cobler it is, i’me a father of his
and he dwells in the lane, cal’d fil~pot
but who is this? o’my daughter sis
mince~pie, with her doe not dally
on paine o’your life: she’s an honest cooks wife
and comes out of scalding~alley

next in the trace, comes gambol in place
and to make my tale the shorter:
my sonne hercules, tane, out of distaffe~lane
but an active man, and a porter

now post and paire, old christmasses heire
doth make, and a gingling sally:
and wott you who, t’is one of my two
sons, cardmakers in pur~alley

next in a trice, with his boxe and his dice
mac~pippin my son, but younger
brings mumming in; and the knave will win
for a’is a costermonger

but new~yeares~gift, of himselfe makes shift
to tell you what his name is:
with orenge on head, and his gingerbread
clem waspe of honey~lane ’tis

this i you tell, is our jolly wassell
and for twelfe~night more meet too:
she workes by the ell, and her name is nell
and she dwells in thred~needle~street too
then offering he, with his dish, and his tree
that in every great house keepeth;
is by my sonne, young little~worth done
and in penny~rich~street he sleepeth

last, baby~cake, that an end doth make
of christmas merrie, merrie vaine a
is child rowlan, and a straight young man
though he come out of crooked~lane ‘a

there should have beene, and a dozen i wene
but i could finde but one more;
child of christmas, and a l’ogge it was
when i them all had gone ore

i pray’d him, in a time so trim
that he would make one to praunce it:
and i my selfe, would have beene the twelfe
o’hut log was to heavie to dance it

- lirik lagu tim graham

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