| | CHRISTMAS knows a merry, merry place, | |
| Where he goes with fondest face, | |
| Brightest eye, brightest hair: | |
| Tell the Mermaid where is that one place, | |
| Where? | 5 |
| |
| Raleigh. | 'Tis by Devon's glorious halls, | |
| Whence, dear Ben, I come again: | |
| Bright of golden roofs and walls— | |
| El Dorado's rare domain— | |
| |
| Seem those halls when sunlight launches | 10 |
| Shafts of gold thro' leafless branches, | |
| Where the winter's feathery mantle blanches | |
| Field and farm and lane. | |
| |
| CHORUS. | Christmas knows a merry, merry place, &c. | |
| |
| Drayton. | 'Tis where Avon's wood-sprites weave | 15 |
| Through the boughs a lace of rime, | |
| While the bells of Christmas Eve | |
| Fling for Will the Stratford-chime | |
| O'er the river-flags emboss'd | |
| Rich with flowery runes of frost— | 20 |
| O'er the meads where snowy tufts are toss'd— | |
| Strains of olden time. | |
| |
| CHORUS. | Christmas knows a merry, merry place, &c. | |
| |
| Shakespeare's Friend. | 'Tis, methinks, on any ground | |
| Where our Shakespeare's feet are set. | 25 |
| There smiles Christmas, holly-crown'd | |
| With his blithest coronet: | |
| Friendship's face he loveth well: | |
| 'Tis a countenance whose spell | |
| Sheds a balm o'er every mead and dell | 30 |
| Where we used to fret. | |
| |
| CHORUS. | Christmas knows a merry, merry place, &c. | |
| |
| Heywood. | More than all the pictures, Ben, | |
| Winter weaves by wood or stream, | |
| Christmas loves our London, when | 35 |
| Rise thy clouds of wassail-steam— | |
| Clouds like these, that, curling, take | |
| Forms of faces gone, and wake | |
| Many a lay from lips we loved, and make | |
| London like a dream. | 40 |
| |
| CHORUS. | Christmas knows a merry, merry place, &c. | |
| |
| Ben Jonson. | Love's old songs shall never die, | |
| Yet the new shall suffer proof: | |
| Love's old drink of Yule brew I | |
| Wassail for new love's behoof. | 45 |
| Drink the drink I brew, and sing | |
| Till the berried branches swing, | |
| Till our song make all the Mermaid ring— | |
| Yea, from rush to roof. | |
| |
| FINALE. | Christmas loves this merry, merry place; | 50 |
| Christmas saith with fondest face, | |
| Brightest eye, brightest hair: | |
| 'Ben, the drink tastes rare of sack and mace: | |
| Rare!' | |
