He had no money, of course, so he Now, here's health to my master and to his right hip Pray God send our master a good flock of sheep, And a good flock of sheep that we may all see To my waysailing bowl I'll bring unto thee. So here is to Broad Mary and to her broad horn May God send our master a good crop of corn And a good crop of corn that may we all see With the wassailing bowl, we'll drink to thee. Then here's to the maid in the lily white smock Who tripped to the door and slipped back the lock Who tripped to the door and pulled back the pin For to let these jolly wassailers in. I've had that dream before. Here's to our horse, and to his right ear, God send our measter a happy new year: The bowl is variously said to have been made of a sycamore, maplin, and maypoling tree, and there are other minor differences in the current versions.
Come pretty maidens--I suppose there are some! Five white fingers clasp a lyre, Five its silv'ry strings awake, And bewildering to the soul Is the music that they make. I came across a RumI poem that pretty much said what I was trying to get across. N'er a 'oss vail, as we all may see, And a wassailing bowl we will drink unto thee. A happy new year as e'er he did see, With my wassailing bowl I drink to thee. Finally he said, "The water of life is here. I've had that dream before. This song took a series of months to write. To my waysailing bowl I'll bring unto thee. There was an old woman she had but one cow And how to maintain it she did not know how She builded a barn to keep her cow warm, And- I'll have to have more sider - will do us no harm. You're a good man, but you're kind of a fool. Have her wave like footsteps glided Through the city's worldly throng? To return to the map page click here To return to the top click here Thames Head Wassailer's Song Wassail, wassail, all over the town, Our toast is white and our ale is brown, Our bowl it is made of a maplin tree, And so is good beer of the best barley. But Cairo is a large city, And before he could find the spot, He had to wander about. So this man with nothing, who had inherited everything And squandered it, kept weeping, Lord, Lord! You will know her by a wreath, Woven all of starry light, That is lying mid her hair Braided hair as dark as night. Here's to the maid, and the rosemary tree, The ribbons are wanted and that you can see; The ribbons are wanted, and that you can see, With our wassailing bowl we will drink unto thee. Here's to our mare, and to her right eye, God send our mistress a good Christmas pie; A good Christmas pie as e'er I did see, With my wassailing bowl I drink to thee. He had no money, of course, so he I feel like the title should be comprised of new words not taken from the lyrics, but that hasn't happened yet. Now, here's health to my master and to his right leg Pray God send our master a good fatted pig And a good fatted pig that we may all see To my waysailing bowl I'lll bring unot thee. And here is to Fillpail and to her left ear Pray God send our master a happy New Year And a happy New Year as e'er he did see With the wassailing bowl, we'll drink to thee. And our bowl it is made of the best mottling tree. Though you loved such dewy dream-light, And such glance of sweet surprise, You could never bear the scorn Of those proud and brilliant eyes. A good Christmas pie, as we all may see, And a wassailing bowl we will drink unto thee. Do you think that you have met her? Go there and get it.
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