|Past Three A Clock|
Past Three A Clock |
Past three a clock, and a cold frosty morning:
Past three a clock, Good morrow, masters all!
Born is a baby, gentle as may be,
Son of th' eternal Father supernal.
Seraph quire singeth, Angel bell ringeth;
Hark how they rime it, time it, and chime it.
Mid earth rejoices hearing such voices
Ne'ertofore so well carolling Nowell.
Hinds o'er the pearly dewy lawn early
Seek the high Stranger laid in the manger.
Light out the star-land leadeth from far land.
Princes, to meet him, worship and greet him.
Myrrh from full coffer, incense they offer;
Nor is the golden nugget withholden.
Thus they: I pray you, up, sirs, nor stay you
'Till ye confess him likewise, and bless him.
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