_Lo! now is come our joyful’st feast!_ _Let every man be jolly;_ _Eache roome with yvie leaves is drest,_ _And every post with holly._ _Now all our neighbours’ chimneys smoke,_ _And Christmas blocks are burning;_ _Their ovens they with bak’t meats choke,_ _And all their spits are turning._ _Without the door let sorrow lie,_ _And if, for cold, it hap to die,_ _We’ll bury’t in a Christmas pye,_ _And evermore be merry._ WITHERS’ “JUVENILLA.” The dinner was served up in the great hall, where the squire always held his Christmas banquet. A blazing, crackling fire of logs had been heaped on to warm the spacious apartment, and the flame went sparkling and wreathing up the wide-mouthed chimney. The…
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