A Carol


And here's a Christmas carol meant for children, and most excellent, and

though the monk that wrote it was hung, yet still his verses may be


As I in a hoarie winter's night

Stood shivering in the snow,

Surpriz'd I was with sudden heat,

Which made my heart to glow;

And lifting up a fearefull eye

To view what fire was neere,

A pr
ttie babe, all burning bright,

Did in the aire appeare;

Who, scorched with excessive heat,

Such flouds of teares did shed,

As though his flouds should quench his flames,

Which with his teares were bred:

Alas! (quoth he) but newly borne,

In fierie heats I frie,

Yet none approach to warm their hearts,

Or feele my fire, but I;

My faultless brest the furnace is,

The fuell, wounding thornes:

Love is the fire, and sighs the smoke,

The ashes, shames and scornes;

The fuell justice layeth on,

And mercy blows the coales,

The metalls in this furnace wrought,

Are Men's defiled soules:

For which, as now on fire I am,

To work them to their good,

So will I melt into a bath,

To wash them in my blood.

With this he vanisht out of sight,

And swiftly shrunke away,

And straight I called unto minde

That it was Christmasse Day.