And while I am stirrin’ the sugar, I relish the
sound of the storm.
For, thank the good Lord, we are cosy and the
stock in the tie-up is warm.
I tell ye, the song o’ the fire and the chirruping
hiss o’ the tea,
The roar of the wind in the chimbly, they sound
dreadful cheerful to me.
But they’d harrer me, plague me, and fret me,
unless as I set here I knew