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AFTER.
Christmas hath made an end,
Welladay, Welladay.
Which was my dearest friend,
More is the pity;
For with a heavy heart.
Must I from thee depart,
To follow plough and cart,
A11 the year after.
It grieves me to the heart,
Welladay, Welladay.
From my friend to depart,
More is the pity.
Christmas, I mean, 'tis thee
That thus forsaketli me,
Yet still one hour I see
Will I be merry.
There's our mumming ended,
And nothing to d strcss ye—
Surely, we be little loth
Since ye so kindly press ye.
Here's Cod bless ye, master, mis
tress,
All the house, God bless ye!
—Llcanor Farjeon. |
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