Hay, ay, hay, ay,
Make we mere as we may.

Now is Yole comen with gentil chere;
Of merth and gamen he has no pere;
In every land where he comes nere
Is merth and gamen, I dare wel say.

Now is comen a messingere
Of your lord, Sir Nu Yere,
Bids us all be mere here
And make as mere as we may.

Therefore every man that is here
Sing a carol on his manere;
If he can none, we shall him lere,
So that we be mere allway.

Whosoever makes heve chere,
Were he never to me dere;
In a dich I wold he were,
To dry his clothes till it were day!

Mend the fire and make good chere!
Fill the cup, Sir Botelere!
Let every man drink to his fere!
This ends my carol with care away.

Hay, ay, hay, ay,
Make we merie as we may.

Now is Yole comen with gentil chere,
Of merthe and gomen he has no pere;
In every londe where he comes nere
Is merthe and gomen, I dar wele say.

Now is comen a messingere
Of yore lorde, Ser Nu Yere —
Biddes us all be merie here
And make as merie as we may.

Therefore every mon that is here
Singe a carol on his manere;
If he con non we schall him lere,
So that we be merie allway.

Whosoever makes hevy chere,
Were he never to me dere,
In a diche I wolde he were,
To dry his clothes till it were day.

Mende the fire, and make gud chere!
Fill the cuppe, Ser Botelere!
Let every mon drinke to his fere!
Thys endes my carol, with care awaye.