Wassail, wassail, all over the town Our bread it is white and our ale it is brown Our bowl it is made of the white maple tree With the wassailing bowl, we'll drink to thee Then here's to the maid in the lily white smock Who tripped to the door and slipped back the lock Who tripped to the door and pulled back the pin For to let these jolly wassailers in. Come butler, fill us a bowl of the best Then we hope that your soul in heaven may rest But if you do draw us a bowl of the small Then down shall go butler, bowl and all