LEVITY

WHy well said, thus should Christmas be Lightsome, Jocund, blithe and free, Now it looks Like Bounties Palace, Where every Cup ha his full Balance, Drown Cares with Juice that Grapes have bled, And make Times cheek look fresh and read, Let nothing now but Healths go round, And no sooner off, but crowned With sparkling Liquours, bounding up, Quick in Pallet, as in Cup: To be heavy, to be dull, Is a fault so pitiful, We bar it from the course of Reason, Care must not peep abroad this Season, Nor a sad look dare appear Within ten Mile of Christmas cheer; Sighs are banished ten leagues farther, Either Cellar, Hall or Larder; To be Jovial then and blithe Is truly to pay ( Christmas ) Tithe, And where free Mirth is and impartial, Christmas there has made me Marshiall. Why Nicety? O fie, fie, How ill you blaze my Coat, Severity? Why thou dull lumpish Thing, void of all fashion, Mirths poison, Enemy to Recreation, Thou Melancholy wretch, so filled with spite Thou eatest thy heart, when others take delight, I must be merry, 'tis my nature— Dull dogbolt. She says this place and season suits not me. You may be gone too, Nor I to Thee,