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Harvest-Supper Song

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Harvest-Supper Song

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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
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