Classic Poem

Your hay it is mowed, and your corn is reaped;
Your barns will be full, and your hovels heaped:
Come, my boys, come;
Come, my boys, come;
And merrily roar out Harvest Home.
Chorus.

Come, my boys, come, & c.

We ha' cheated the parson, we'll cheat him again,
For why should a blockhead ha' one in ten?
One in ten,
One in ten,
For why should a blockhead ha' one in Ten?

For prating so long like a book-learned sot,
Till pudding and dumpling burn to pot,
Burn to pot,
Burn to pot,
Till pudding and dumpling burn to pot.
Chorus.

Burn to pot, etc.

We'll toss off our ale till we canno' stand,
And hoigh for the honor of old England:
Old England,
Old England,
And hoigh for the honor of Old England.