Christ's Birth.

In numbers, and but these few,
I sing Thy birth, O JESU!
Thou pretty baby, born here,
With sup'rabundant scorn here;
Who for Thy princely port here,
    Hadst for Thy place
    Of birth a base
Out-stable for Thy court here.

Instead of neat enclosures
Of interwoven osiers,
Instead of fragrant posies
Of daffodils and roses,
Thy cradle, Kingly Stranger,
    As Gospel tells,
    Was nothing else
But here a homely manger.

But we with silks, not crewels,
With sundry precious jewels,
And lily-work will dress Thee;
And as we dispossess Thee
Of clouts, we'll make a chamber,
    Sweet babe, for Thee
    Of ivory,
And plaister'd round with amber.

The Jews they did disdain Thee,
But we will entertain Thee

In numbers, and but these few,
I sing thy birth, oh JESU!
Thou pretty Baby, born here,
With sup'rabundant scorn here;
Who for thy princely port here,
Hadst for thy place
Of birth, a base
Out-stable for thy court here.

Instead of neat enclosures
Of interwoven osiers;
Instead of fragrant posies
Of daffodils and roses,
Thy cradle, kingly stranger,
As gospel tells,
Was nothing else,
But, here, a homely manger.

But we with silks, not cruels,
With sundry precious jewels,
And lily-work will dress thee;
And as we dispossess thee
Of cloths, we'll make a chamber,
Sweet babe, for thee,
Of ivory,
And plaster'd round with amber.

The Jews, they did disdain thee;
But we will entertain thee
With glories to aw...

Thy former coming was to cure
My soul's most desp'rate calenture;
Thy second advent, that must be
To heal my earth's infirmity.

1. Hence, hence profane, and none appear
        With anything unhallowed here;
        No jot of leaven must be found
        Conceal'd in this most holy ground.

2. What is corrupt, or sour'd with sin,
        Leave that without, then enter in;

Chor. But let no Christmas mirth begin
        Before ye purge and circumcise
        Your hearts, and hands, lips, ears, and eyes.

3. Then, like a perfum'd altar, see
        That all things sweet and clean may be:
        For here's a Babe that, like a bride,
        Will blush to death if ought be spi'd
        Ill-scenting, or unpurifi'd.

Chor. The room is 'cens'd: help, help t' invoke
        Heaven to come down, the while we choke
        The temple with a cloud of smoke.

Justly our dearest Saviour may abhor us,
Who hath more suffered by us far, than for us.

To all our wounds here, whatsoe'er they be,
Christ is the one sufficient remedy.