Christmas Lamentations
Christmas is my name, far have I gone, have I gone, have I gone
Have I gone without regard
Whereas great men by flocks there be flown, there be flown, there
be flown
There be flown to London-ward
There they in pomp and pleasure do waste
That which old Christmas was wont to feast
Welladay, welladay, welladay, where should I stay?
Houses where music was wont to ring
Nothing but bats and howlets do sing
Welladay, welladay, welladay, where should I stay?
Christmas beef and bread is turn'd to stones, into stones, into stones
Into stones and silken rags
And Lady Money sleeps and makes moans, and makes moans, and makes moans
And makes moans in miser's bags
Houses where pleasures once did abound
Naught but a dog and a shepherd are found
Welladay, welladay, welladay, where should I stay?
Places where Christmas revels did keep
Are now become habitations for sheep
Welladay, welladay, welladay, where should I stay?
AJS
Thanks to Mudcat for the Digital Tradition!