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Wassail, wassail, all over the town,
Our bread it is white, and our ale it is brown;
Our bowl it is made of the maplin tree,
So here, my good fellow, I’ll drink it to thee.

The wassailing bowl, with a toast within,
Come, fill it up unto the brim;
Come fill it up that we may all see;
With the wassailing bowl I’ll drink to thee.

Come, butler, come bring us a bowl of your best,
And we hope your soul in heaven shall rest;
But if you do bring us a bowl of your small,
Then down shall go butler, the bowl, and all.

O butler, O butler, now don’t you be worst,
But pull out your knife and cut us a toast;
And cut us a toast, one that we may all see;
With the wassailing bowl I’ll drink to thee.

Here’s to Dobbin and to his right eye!
God send our mistress a good Christmas-pie!
A good Christmas-pie as e’er we did see;
With the wassailing bowl I’ll drink to thee.

Here’s to Broad May and his broad horn,
God send our master a good crop of corn,
A good crop of corn as we all may see;
With the wassailing bowl I’ll drink to thee.

Here’s to Colly and to her long tail,
We hope our master and mistress heart will ne’er fail;
But bring us a bowl of your good strong beer,
And then we shall taste of your happy New Year.

Be there here any pretty maids? we hope there be some;
Don’t let the jolly wassailers stand on the cold stone,
But open the door and pull out the pin,
That we jolly wassailers may all sail in.

Chappell’s Ancient English Melodies.