Here be Lady Magnon, out a-wassailing last night. Ooh aaarh, ooh aaarh; my lovelies.
Twelfth Night is when we all go a-wassailing.
Old Apple tree we wassail thee,
and hoping thou wilt bear hats-full, caps-full,
three bushels bags-full.
And a little heap under the stairs.
We beat the Apple trees to waken them from their winter's sleep, then anoint their roots with cider. We also hang cider-soaked toast on their branches.
If that doesn't bring a good harvest later in the year, then I don't know what would!