(Comus.) Your hay it is mow'd, and your corn is reap'd; <br />Your barns will be full, and your hovels heap'd: <br />Come, my boys, come; <br />Come, my boys, come; <br />And merrily roar out Harvest Home. <br />(Chorus.) Come, my boys, come; <br />Come, my boys, come; <br />And merrily roar out Harvest Home. <br /> <br />(Man.) We ha' cheated the parson, we'll cheat him agen, <br />For why should a blockhead ha' one in ten? <br />One in ten, <br />One in ten, <br />For why should a blockhead ha' one in ten? <br /> <br />For prating so long like a book-learn'd sot, <br />Till pudding and dumplin burn to pot, <br />Burn to pot, <br />Burn to pot, <br />Till pudding and dumplin burn to pot. <br />(Chorus.)Burn to pot, <br />Burn to pot, <br />Till pudding and dumplin burn to pot. <br />We'll toss off our ale till we canno' stand, <br />And Hoigh for the honour of Old England: <br />Old England, <br />Old England, <br />And Hoigh for the honour of Old England. <br />(Chorus.) Old England, <br />Old England, <br />And Hoigh for the honour of Old England.<br /><br />John Dryden<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/your-hay-it-is-mow-d-and-your-corn-is-reap-d/
