Good farmers in the country nurse The poor that else were undone; Some landlords spend their money worse, On lust and pride at London. There the roysters they do play, Drab and dice their lands away, Which may be ours another day; The client now his suit forbears, Though other purses be more fat, Hang sorrow! care will kill a cat, Hark! how the wags abroad do call Anon you'll see them in the hall For nuts and apples scrambling. Hark! how the roofs with laughter sound! The wenches with their wassail bowls The boys are come to catch the owls, The wild mare in is bringing. MERRY CHRISTMAS. Our kitchen-boy hath broke his box,* And to the dealing of the ox And here they will be merry. Now kings and queens poor sheep cotes have, The honest now may play the knave, And wise men play the noddy. And twenty other gambols mo, Because they will be merry. Then wherefore in these merry days To make our mirth the fuller. Bear witness we are merry. George Wither will be remembered as the author of many tender and graceful poems, some few of which invariably find a place in every collection of early poetry. He was one of those uncompromising spirits, formed by and for the age in which th y live. He supported the cause of the Parliament with his satiric pen and good broadswoard. He sold his estate to raise a regiment, and was made a major-general by Cromwell in return. The Restoration stripped him of everything he possessed ; still this was only a part of his misfortunes, for he was shortly afterwards imprisoned in the Tower on a charge of sedition, and, to increase his punishment, pens, ink, and paper were denied him. When he obtained his liberty is not known; he lived, however, to the good old age of seventy-nine, closing his troublous worldly career on May 2, 1667. This alludes to the Christmas money-box, made of earthenware, which required to be broken to obtain possession of the money it held, GEORGE WITHER. As on the night before this happy morn, Where (in a stable) He was poorly born, Whom nor the earth, nor heaven of heavens can hold : This news at their return; Yea, angels sung That God with us was born; And they made mirth because we should not mourn. Their angel-carol sing we then, To God on high all glory be, For peace on earth bestoweth He, This favour Christ vouchsafèd for our sake; To buy us thrones, He in a manger lay ; Our weakness took, that we His strength might take; And wept for us, that we might sing for aye. With angels, therefore, sing again, To God on high all glory be; For peace on earth bestoweth He, And showeth favour unto men. HYMN TO THE NATIVITY. JOHN MILTON. IT was the winter wild, While the heaven-born child All meanly wrapt in the rude manger lies : Had doffed her gaudy trim, With her great Master so to sympathize: It was no season then for her To wanton with the sun, her lusty paramour. Only with speeches fair She woos the gentle air, To hide her guilty front with innocent snow; And on her naked shame, Pollute with sinful blame, The saintly veil of maiden white to throw ; Should look so near upon her foul deformities. But He, her fears to cease, Sent down the meek-eyed Peace ; She, crowned with olive green, came softly sliding Down through the turning sphere, His ready harbinger, With turtle wing the amorous cloud dividing; And, waving wide her myrtle wand, She strikes a universal peace through sea and land. No war, or battle's sound, Was heard the world around : The idle spear and shield were high up hung; The hooked chariot stood Unstained with hostile blood; The trumpet spake not to the armèd throng; As if they surely knew their sovereign Lord was by. But peaceful was the night, Wherein the Prince of Light His reign of peace upon the earth began : Whispering new joys to the mild ocean, Who now hath quite forgot to rave, While birds of calm sit brooding on the charmèd wave. The stars, with deep amaze, Stand fixed in steadfast gaze, Bending one way their precious influence; And will not take their flight, For all the morning light, Or Lucifer that often warned them thence; But in their glimmering orbs did glow, Until their Lord himself bespake, and bid them go. And, though the shady gloom Had given day her room, The sun himself withheld his wonted speed, And hid his head for shame, As his inferior flame The new enlightened world no more should need : He saw a greater Sun appear Than his bright throne, or burning axletree, could bear. |