Old Father Christmas.
I'll give thee many thanks,
And I'll quit thee as soon as I can;
Vain did I know
Where thee could do so or no,
For to the pleasure of a servant man.
Servant Man.
Some servants of pleasure
Will pass time out of measure,
With our hares and hounds
They will make the hills and valleys sound
That's a pleasure for some servant man.
Old Father Christmas.
My pleasure is more than for to see my oxen grow fat,
And see them prove well in their kind,
A good rick of hay, and a good stack of corn to fill up my barn,
That's a pleasure of a good honest husband man.
Servant Man.
Next to church they will go with their livery fine and gay,
With their cocked-up hat, and gold lace all round,
And their shirt so white as milk,
And stitched so fine as silk,
That's a habit for a servant man.
Old Father Christmas.
Don't tell I about thee silks and garments that's not fit to travel the bushes.
Let I have on my old leather coat,
And in my purse a groat,
And there, that's a habit for a good old husband man.