And there in Winter paints the sun
His patterns ’neath the trees, sir;
And there with merry song doth run
A river full of fish, sir,
That Thursday sees upon the flood
And Friday on the dish, sir.
So this is the chorus we will sing
And this is the spot we’ll drink to,
While blossom blows and Severn flows,
And Earth has mugs to clink to.