The Contest Of The Vines

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Title:     The Contest Of The Vines
Author: Harrison S. Morris [More Titles by Morris]

Nay, ivy, nay,
It shall not be, I wis;
Let holly have the mastery,
As the manner is.

Holly stand in the hall,
Fair to behold;
Ivy stand without the door,
She is full sore a-cold.
Nay, ivy, nay, etc.

Holly and his merry men
They dancen and they sing;
Ivy and her maidens
They weepen and they wring.
Nay, ivy, nay, etc.

Ivy hath a kybe,[P]
She caught it with the cold;
So mot they all have ae,[Q]
That with ivy hold.
Nay, ivy, nay, etc.

Holly hath berries
As red as any rose,
The forester and the hunters
Keep them from the does.
Nay, ivy, nay, etc.

Ivy hath berries
As black as any sloe;
There come the owl
And eat him as she go.
Nay, ivy, nay, etc.

Holly hath birdes
A full fair flock,
The nightingale, the popinjay,
The gentle laverock.
Nay, ivy, nay, etc.

Good ivy,
What birdes hast thou?
None but the howlet
That krey[R] "How, how."

Nay, ivy, nay,
It shall not be, I wis;
Let holly have the mastery,
As the manner is.

FOOTNOTES:

[P] Chapped skin.

[Q] So may all have.

[R] Cries.

[The end]
Harrison S. Morris's poem: The Contest Of The Vines

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