Classic Poem

COME up from the field,
Come up from the fold,
For the farmer has broken,
His things must be sold.

Drive the flock from the fold,
And the stock from the field,
And the team from the furrow,
And see what they yield.
Coom up!

Come up from the marsh,
Come down from the hops,
Come down thro' the ventways,
Come cater the copse.

Come down from the hops,
Come up from the marsh,
Tho' selling be bitter
And creditors harsh,
Coom up!

Bring all you can find,
Take the clock from the wall,
The crocks from the dairy,
The arm-chair and all.

Tear the prints from the wall,
Bring all you can find,
Now turn up your collars,
To keep out the wind.
Bid up!
So come up from the field, come up from the fold,
For the poor old farmer his things must be sold;
Come up from the fold, come up from the field,
Now stand all together, let's see what they yield.
Bid up!