George Wither (1588-1667), "A Christmas Carroll," stanzas I-II:
So, now is come our joyfulst Feast;
Let ever man be jolly.
Each Roome, with Ivie leaves is drest,
And every Post, with Holly.
Though some Churles at our mirth repine,
Round your foreheads Garlands twine,
Drowne sorrow in a Cup of Wine.
And let us all be merry.
Now, all our Neighbours Chimneys smoke,
And Christmas blocks are burning;
Their Ovens, they with bakt-meats choke,
And all their Spits are turning.
Without the doore, let sorrow lie:
And, if for cold, it hap to die,
We'll bury 't in a Christmas Pie,
And evermore be merry.