Christmas Is My Name Lyrics

1. Christmas is my name, far have I gone,
Have I gone, have I gone, have I gone,
without regard1
Whereas great men by flocks there were flown,
There to be flown, there to be flown, there to be flown,
to London-ward;
Where they in pomp and pleasure do waste
That which Christmas was wonted to feast,
Welladay!
Houses where music was wont for to ring
Nothing but bats and owlets do sing.
Welladay! Welladay! Welladay!
Where should I stay?

2. Christmas beef and bread is turn'd into stones
and silken rags;
And Lady Money sleeps and makes moans
in miser's bags;
Houses where pleasure once did abound
Nought but a dog and a shepherd is found,
Welladay!
Places where Christmas revels did keep
And now become habitations for sheep.
Welladay! Welladay! Welladay!
Where should I stay?

3. Pan, the shepherd's god, doth deface
Lady Ceres' crown,
And tillage that doth go to decay
in every town:
Landlords their rents so highly enhance
That Pierce, the ploughman, bare-foot may dance;
Welladay!
And farmers that Christmas would entertain,
Have scarce wherewith themselves to maintain.
Welladay! Welladay! Welladay!
Where should I stay?

4. Come to the countryman, he will protest,
and of bull beef boast;
And for the citizen, he is so hot
he will burn the roast.
The courtier he good deeds will not scorn,
Nor will he see poor Christmas forlorn:
Welladay!
Since none of these good deeds will do,
Christmas had best turn courtier too.
Welladay! Welladay! Welladay!
Where should I stay?

5. Pride and luxury they do devour
housekeeping quite;
And beggary that doth beget
in many a knight.
Madam, forsooth, in her couch must wheel,
Although she wear her hose out at heel,
Welladay!
And on her back wear that for a weed
Which me and all my fellows would feed.
Welladay! Welladay! Welladay!
Where should I stay?

6. Since price came up with the yellow starch,
poor folks do want,
And nothing the rich man will to them give,
but do them taunt;
For Charity from the country is fed,
And in her place hath left naught but need:
Welladay!
And corn is grown to so high a price,
It makes poor men cry with weeping eyes.
Welladay! Welladay! Welladay!
Where should I stay?

7. Briefly for to end, here I do find
a great vacation,
That most great houses seem to attain
a strong pergation:
Where purging pills such effects they have thrown,
Welladay!
And whereas Christmas comes by and calls,
Nought but solitary and naked walls.
Welladay! Welladay! Welladay!
Where should I stay?

8. Philemon's cottage was turned into gold
for harbouring Jove:
Rich men their houses for to keep
might their greatness move;
But in the city they say they do live,
Where gold by handfulls away they do give:
I'll away,
And thither therefore I purpose to pass,
Hopeing at London to find the Golden Ass.
I'll away, I'll away, I'll away,
for here's no stay.