And, as they were homewards advancing,
A-dancing, and singing of songs,
The rough music met them all prancing,
With frying pans, shovels, and tongs:
Tin Canisters, salt boxes plenty,
With trotter bones beat by the boys,
And they being hollow and empty,
They made a most racketting noise.
Bowls, gridirons, platters, and ladles,
And pokers, tin kettles did bruise,