Wassailing, Texas Style

Oh gosh I just love Texans!

I tried to call my niece there last night and apparantly her number had changed. This lovely woman called me back to explain that I didn't have the right number and she even wanted to try to help me find the right number. How sweet is that?

I can't think of another state where someone would call halfway across the country just to tell you such a thing and to even offer to help.

I don't know exactly why you started this wassailing thread but I thought I'd throw in my love of Texans whether they're wassiling or not.

I guess... if you really wanna, it just seems a little... weird... to sing to trees thats all.

A bit of whimsy. Nothing going on.

There is something that is not quite right with Texas.

A state full of "chuck" wagons has to be a little suspect.

I love Texas, it would be the perfect place to live if it would just snow once and awhile and if we could have an actual fall.

Gloucestershire Wassail


Wassail, wassail all over the town!
Our bread it is white and our ale it is brown,
Our bowl, it is made of the good maple tree;
From the wassailing bowl we'll drink unto thee.


Come, butler, and fill us a bowl of your best,
And we hope your soul in Heaven may rest;
But if you do bring us a bowl of the small,
Then down shall go butler and bowl and all.


Come here, sweet maid, in the frilly white smock,
Come trip to the door and trip back the lock!
Come trip to the door and pull back the pin,
And let us jolly wassailers in.

But, not if you're Texan.

Homeless Wassail by Ian Robb (of Finest Kind)

The song was conceived one wintery evening by the sight of a few homeless folks huddling together for warmth on a subway grate outside Toronto city hall, while hordes of good citizens passed them by, focused on getting home with their Christmas shopping. The old English tradition of wassailing, in which the workers visited the wealthier houses in the village, sang, and were rewarded with food and drink, seemed like an appropriate setting.


1. Wassail, wassail all over the town
Our cup is white and our ale is brown.
But huddled on this iron grate
We poor and hungry curse our fate.

Chorus:
No wassail bowl for such as these
No turkey scraps, no ale nor cheese.
This Christmas eve our hearts' desire
Is a bottle of gin and a trashcan fire.

2. Good Christian mind, as home you go
With dreams of holly and mistletoe,
That the holly bears a dreadful thorn
For those who wake to a frozen dawn.

Chorus

3. Oh, where is he, that holy child
Once born of Mary, meek and mild?
And whither peace, goodwill to men
Now and for evermore, amen?

Chorus

4. All ye who dine with face aglow
In Reginensi atrio,
Pray pause awhile at pleasure's door
And sup some sorrow with the poor.

Chorus

5. Wassail, wassail all over the town
Our cup is white and our ale is brown.
This cold and hunger, pain and care,
Sweet Jesus Christ, it's hard to bear!