| Lyrics: | HARVEST-SUPPER SONG
Here's a health unto our master,
The founder of the
feast;
I hope his soul, whenever he dies,
To heav'n may go to rest;
That all his
works may prosper,
Whatever he takes in hand;
For we are all his servants,
And all at
his command.
cho: Then, drink---boys---drink;
And see you do not spill,
For if you do, you shall drink two,
It is our master's will.
Now harvest it
is ended,
And supper it is past,
To our good mistress' health, boys,
A full and
flowing glass,
For she is a good woman,
And makes us all good cheer
Here's to our
mistress' health, boys,
So all drink off your beer.
Here's a health unto the
woodcutter,
that lives at home at ease ;
He takes his work so light in hand,
Can
leave it when he please
He takes the withe and winds it,
And lays it on the
ground,
And round the faggot he binds it,
So let his health go round.
From
Popular Music of the Olden Time, Chappell
@work @harvest @drink
filename[
MILLDEE3
play.exe MILLDEE
RG
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