(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-2/
