Many traditional Christmas carols, which are still familiar today, are traceable to at least as far back as the seventeenth century. Among these are Coventry Carol, I Saw Three Ships, Boar's Head Carol, The Holly & the Ivy, Here We Come A-Wassailing, and Deck the Halls.
Although the verses for What Child is This are Victorian, its tune Greensleeves (that #1 hit of the seventeenth century), had verses for New Year's Day set to it in 1642, as follows:
The old year now away is fled,
Then new year it is entered;
Then let us all our sins downtread,
and joyfully all appear:
Let's merry be this day,
And let us now both sport and play:
Hang grief, cast care away!
God send you a happy New Year!
Even though The Twelve Days of Christmas is of very uncertain origin, it represents a popular type of early party game, in which singers tried to recall each verse as it was added on. A seventeenth century French version called The Twelve Days calls for the following gifts:
1 boneless stuffing,
2 breasts of veal,
3 joints of beef,
4 pig's trotters,
5 legs of mutton,
6 partridges with cabbage,
7 spitted rabbits,
8 plates of salad,
9 dishes from the chapterhouse,
10 full casks,
11 bosomy maidens, and
12 musketeers with their swords.
Now what follows are some period songs for your holiday carolling:
Ceremonies for Christmas
by Robert Herrick
Come, bring with a noise,
My merry, merry boys,
The Christmas log to the firing,
While my good dame, she
Bids ye all be free,
And drink to your heart's desiring.
With the last year's brand
Light the new block, and
For good success in his spending,
On your psalteries play,
That sweet luck may
Come while the log is a-teending.
Drink now the strong beer,
Cut the white loaf here,
The while the meat is a-shredding;
For the rare mince-pie,
And the plums stand by,
To fill the paste that's a-kneading.
The following song is by George Wither (1588-1667), who although was once a captain under Oliver Cromwell, his view of Christmas is anything but Puritanical:
So Now Has Come Our Joyfu'st Feast
So now is come our joyful'st feast,
Let every man be jolly.
Each room with ivy-leaves is dressed,
And every post with holly.
Though some churls at our mirth repine
Round your foreheads garlands twine,
drown sorrow in a cup of wine,
And let us all be merry.
Now all our neighbors' chimneys smoke,
And Christmas blocks are burning
The ovens they with baked meats choke,
And all their spits are turning.
Without the door let sorrow lie;
And if for cold it hap to die,
We'll bury't in a Christmas pie,
And everymore be merry.
Now every lad is wondrous trim,
And no man minds his labor;
Our lasses have provided them
A bag-pipe and a tabor;
Young men and maids, and girls and boys,
Give life to one another's joys;
And you anon shall by their noise
Perceive that they are merry.
Rank misers now to sparing shun,
Their hall of music soundeth,
And dogs thence with whole shoulders run,
So all things there aboundeth.
The country-folk themselves advance
For crowdy-mutton's come out of France;
And Jack shall pipe, and Jill shall dance,
And all the town be merry.
The wenches with their wassail bowls
About the streets are singing,
The boys are come to catch the owls,
The wild mare is in bringing.
Our kitchen-boy hath broke his box,
And to the dealing of the ox
Our honest neighbors come by flocks,
And here they will be merry.
Then wherefore in these merry days
Should we, I pray, be duller?
No; let us sing our roundelays
To make our mirth the fuller.
And, while thus inspired we sing,
Let all the streets with echoes ring;
Woods, and hills, and everything,
Bear witness we are merry.
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