Bright Luna spreads its light around,
The gallants for to cheer;
As they lay sporting on the ground,
At the fair June bonfire.
All on the pleasant dewy mead,
They shared each other’s charms;
Till Phoebus’ beams began to spread,
And coming day alarms.
Whilst larks and linnets sing so sweet,
To cheer each lovely swain;
Let each prove true unto their love,
And so farewell the plain.
SUFFOLK HARVEST-HOME SONG.
[In no part of England are the harvest-homes kept up with greater spirit than in Suffolk. The following old song is a general favourite on such occasions.]
Here’s a health unto our master,
The founder of the feast!
I wish, with all my heart and soul,
In heaven he may find rest.
I hope all things may prosper,
That ever be takes in hand;
For we are all his servants,
And all at his command.
Drink, boys, drink, and see you do not spill,
For if you do, you must drink two,—it is your master’s will.
Now our harvest is ended,
And supper is past;
Here’s our mistress’ good health,
In a full flowing glass!
She is a good woman,—
She prepared us good cheer;
Come, all my brave boys,
And drink off your beer.
Drink, my boys, drink till you come unto me,
The longer we sit, my boys, the merrier shall we be!
In yon green wood there lies an old fox,
Close by his den you may catch him, or no;
Ten thousand to one you catch him, or no.
His beard and his brush are all of one colour,—