Good King Wenceslas

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Good King Wenceslas looked out, on the feast of Stephen, When the snow lay round about, Deep and crisp and even; Brightly shone the moon that night, though the frost was cruel, when a poor man came in sight, gath'ring winter fuel.

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Hither, page, and stand by me, if thou know it telling: yonder peasant, who is he? Where and what his dwelling? Sire, he lives a good league hence, underneath the mountain, right against the forest fence by Saint Agnes fountain.

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Bring me meat, and bring me wine, bring me pine logs hither. Thou and I will see him dine, when we bear the thither. Page and monarch, forth they went, forth they went together through the rude wind's wild lament and the bitter weather.