Christmas Pie Lo now is come our joyfull'st feast Let every man be jolly Each room with ivy leaves is dressed, And every post with holly. Now all our neighbours' chimneys smoke, And Christmas blocks are burning Their ovens they with bakemeats choke, And all their spits are turning. Without the door let sorrow lie, And if for cold it hap to die, We'll bury it in a Christmas pie, And ever more be merry.
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