Then, plough-boy Jack, in kirtle gay,-- Though shod with clouted shoon,-- Stands forth the wilful maid to play Who ever saith to her lover "Nay"-- When he sues for a lover's boon.
While Hob the smith with sturdy arm Circleth the feignëd maid; And, spite of Jack's assumed alarm, Busseth his lips, like a lover warm, And will not "Nay" be said.
Then loffe the gossips, as if wit Were mingled with the joke:-- Gentles,--they were with folly smit,-- Natheless, their memories acquit Of crime--these simple folk!
No harmful thoughts their revels blight,-- Devoid of bitter hate and spite, They hold their merriment;-- And, till the chimes tell noon at night, Their joy shall be unspent!
"Come haste ye to bold Thorold's hall, And crowd his kitchen wide; For there, he saith, both free and thrall Shall sport this good Yule-tide!
"Come hasten, gossips!" the mummers cry, Throughout old Torksey town; "We'll hasten!" they answer, joyfully, The gossip and the clown.
Heigho! whence cometh that cheery shout? 'Tis the Yule-log troop,--a merry rout! The gray old ash that so bravely stood, The pride of the Past, in Thorney wood,[5] They have levelled for honour of welcome Yule; And kirtled Jack is placed astride: On the log to the grunsel[6] he shall ride!
"Losels, yoke all! yoke to, and pull!" Cries Dick the wright, on long-eared steed; "He shall have thwack On lazy back, That yoketh him not, in time of need!" A long wain-whip Dick doth equip, And with beans in the bladder at end of thong, It seemeth to threaten strokes sturdy and strong;-- Yet clown and maid Give eager aid,-- And all, as they rattle the huge block along, Seem to court the joke Of Dick's wain-whip stroke,-- Be it ever so smart, none thinks he hath wrong;-- Till with mirthsome glee, The old ash tree Hath come to the threshold of Torksey hall,-- Where its brave old heart A glow shall impart To the heart of each guest at the festival.
And through the porch, a jocund crowd, They rush, with heart-born laughter loud; And still the merry mimesters call, With jest and gibe, "Laugh, losels all!"
Then in the laden sewers troop, With plattered beef and foaming stoup:-- "Make merry, neighbours!" cries good Hugh, The white-haired seneschal: "Ye trow, bold Thorold welcomes you-- Make merry, my masters, all!"