Classic Poem

Christmas hath made an end,
Welladay, welladay;
Which was my dearest friend,
More is the pity:
For with an heavy heart
Must I from thee depart
To follow plough and cart
All the year after.

Lent is fast coming on,
Welladay, welladay;
That loves not any one,
More is the pity;
For I doubt both my cheeks
Will look thin eating leeks,
Wise is he then that seeks
For a friend in a corner.

All our good cheer is gone,
Welladay, welladay;
And turnëd to a bone,
More is the pity:
In my good master's house
I shall eat no more souse,
Then give me one carouse,
Gentle kind butler.

It grieves me to the heart,
Welladay, welladay;
From my friend to depart,
More is the pity:
Christmas, I mean 'tis thee
That thus forsaketh me,
Yet till one hour I see,
Will I be merry.

Christmas hath made an end,
Welladay, welladay;
Which was my dearest friend,
More is the pity:
For with an heavy heart
Must I from thee depart
To follow plough and cart
All the year after.

Lent is fast coming on,
Welladay, welladay;
That loves not any one,
More is the pity;
For I doubt both my cheeks
Will look thin eating leeks,
Wise is he then that seeks
For a friend in a corner.

All our good cheer is gone,
Welladay, welladay;
And turnëd to a bone,
More is the pity:
In my good master's house
I shall eat no more souse,
Then give me one carouse,
Gentle kind butler.

It grieves me to the heart,
Welladay, welladay;
From my friend to depart,
More is the pity:
Christmas, I mean 'tis thee
That thus forsaketh me,
Yet till one hour I see,
Will I be merry.