Song of the Day - 27th December

Today is the Feast Day of St. John the Evangelist (c. 6 AD – c. 100 AD), the name traditionally given to the author of the Gospel of John.

Christians have traditionally identified him with John the Apostle, John of Patmos (the author of the Book of Revelation), and John the Presbyter, although there is no consensus on how many of these may actually be the same individual.

This is a setting of a poem or hymn from hymn or carol from a book called "New Christmas Carols, 1661 AD" - there is no author attributed to it. Despite its title of "On Saint John's Day" it's actually mostly about Christmas food, mince pies particularly. This is apt as, like many others I am sure, I overbought for Christmas - as I do every year - and still have plenty of Christmas food in the house which we are slowly eating through, including mince pies!

So please enjoy this song while you eat your mince pies, secure in the knowledge that you are continuing a centuries-old tradition!

On Saint John's Day

Source: New Christmas Carols, 1661 AD

In honour of Saint John we thus

Do keep good Christmas cheer;

And he that comes to dine with us,

I think he need not spare.

The butcher he hath killed good beef,

The caterer brings it in;

But Christmas pies are still the chief,

If that I durst begin.

Our bacon-hogs are full and fat

To make us brawn and souse;

Full well may I rejoice thereat

To see them in the house.

But yet the minced-pie it is

That sets my teeth on water;

Good mistress, let me have a bit,

For I do long thereafter.

And I will fetch you water in

To brew and bake withal,

Your love and favour still to win

When as you please to call.

Then grant me, dame, your love and leave

To taste your pie-meat here;

It is the best, in my conceit,

Of all your Christmas-cheer.

The cloves, and mace, and gallant plums

That here on heaps do lie,

And prunes as big as both my thumbs,

Enticeth much mine eye.

Oh, let me eat my belly-full

Of your good Christmas-pie;

Except thereat I have a pull,

I think I sure shall die.

Good master, stand my loving friend,

For Christmas-time is short,

And when it comes unto an end

I may no longer sport;

Then while it doth continue here,

Let me such labour find

To eat my fill of that good cheer

That best doth please my mind.

Then I shall thank my dame therefore,

That gives her kind consent

That Jack, your boy, with others more,

May have this Christmas spent

In pleasant mirth and merry glee,

As young men most delight;

For that's the only sport for me,

And so God give you all good-night.