Classic Poem

My Charroll — 1640

What though't be Could and freez
Let noe good Christian leese
Soe much of heat and Zeal
As not for to remember
That blest day of December
And what to Shepards Aingells did reveal
Which doth of right claym lay
To all that ever Man can write or say

A Saviour's born for us
What newes more pretious?
Wer't but some neighbours sonn
The bells should straitwayes ring-
In Cakes for Gossoping
Soe soon the tidings o're the town would run
And many a light brain tost
Amongst the goodwives wher to place their cost

And shall my frozen hart
Not thaugh and bear its part
In jollety for thisWherby not I alone
But each beleeving one
May promise to himself eternall bliss
For such can nere be could
Who have this berth-day in their harts enrould

But may be sayd to burn
Till some thankes they return
Which though far short they reach
The comfort is most suer
H'hath healing winges to cuer
Not for reward, but to make up the breach
Which soe repaird: 'tis Wee
Must make it good 'gainst Satans battery

Wherto belonges this care
In chief and singular
That stricter guard we keep
Because both night and day
Th'artillery doth play
Nor doth our adversary ever sleep
And we shall shew therby
Christs favour hath not slipped our memory.