Your hay it is mow’d, and your corn it is reap’d Henry Purcell
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COMUS
Your hay it is mow'd, and your corn is reap'd;
Your barns will be full, and your hovels heap'd:
Come, my boys, come;
Come, my boys, come;
And merrily roar out Harvest Home.
CHORUS
Come, my boys, come;
Come, my boys, come;
And merrily roar out Harvest Home.
MAN
We ha' cheated the parson, we'll cheat him agen,
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-learn'd sot,
Till pudding and dumplin are burnt to pot,
Burnt to pot,
Burnt to pot,
Till pudding and dumplin are burnt to pot.
CHORUS
Burnt to pot,
Burnt to pot,
Till pudding and dumplin are burnt to pot.
Your hay it is mow'd, and your corn is reap'd;
Your barns will be full, and your hovels heap'd:
Come, my boys, come;
Come, my boys, come;
And merrily roar out Harvest Home.
CHORUS
Come, my boys, come;
Come, my boys, come;
And merrily roar out Harvest Home.
MAN
We ha' cheated the parson, we'll cheat him agen,
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-learn'd sot,
Till pudding and dumplin are burnt to pot,
Burnt to pot,
Burnt to pot,
Till pudding and dumplin are burnt to pot.
CHORUS
Burnt to pot,
Burnt to pot,
Till pudding and dumplin are burnt to pot.
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