At Christmas, the hardness of winter doth rage, 

 A griper of all things, and specially age ; 

 Then sadly poor people, the young and the old, 

 Be sorest oppressed with hunger and cold. 



At Christmas, by labour there's little to get, 

 That wanting the poorest in danger are set: 

 What season then better, of all the whole year, 

 Thy needy, poor neighbour, to comfort and cheer. 



At Christmas be merry, and thankful withal, 



And feast thy poor neighbours, the great with the small : 



Yea all the year long, to the poor let us give, 



God's blessing to follow us, whiles we do live. 



In harvest time, harvest folk, servants and all 

 Should make, all together, good cheer in the hall; 

 And fill out the black bowl of blythe to their song, 

 And let them be merry all harvest time long. 



Once ended thy harvest, let none be beguil'd, 

 Please such as did help thee man, woman, and child, 

 Thus doing, with alway, such help as they can, 

 Thou winnest the praise of the labouring man. 



Now look up to God-ward, let tongue never cease 

 In thanking of him, for his mighty increase, 

 Accept my good will for a proof go and try; 

 The better thou thrivest, the gladder am I. 



Tusser died about the year 1583, aged about sixty-five, 

 and is buried in St. Mildred's church, in the Poultry. His 

 epitaph is preserved in Stowe's Survey of London ; and (as 

 Mr. Mavor observes) it is perfectly in character with the 

 man and his writings; and if conjecture may be allowed, 

 was penned by himself: 



Here Thomas Tusser, clad in earth, doth lie, 

 Who sometime made the Points of Husbandry. 



