Wassail, Wassail all over the town!
Our bread it is white and our ale it is brown:
Our bow! is made of the maple tree,
So here my good fellow,
I'll drink to thee.

The was'ling bow! with a toast within,
Come, fill it up now unto the brim.
Come, fill it up that we may all see,
With the wassailing bowl,
I'll drink to thee.

Come butler bring us a bowl of your best,
And we hope your soul in heaven shall rest.
But if you bring us a bowl too small,
Then down shall go butler and bowl and all.