He’ll toast his lass, and drink his glass, and tally O the hounds, sir.
And every morn this priest does rise, he does put on his boots, sir,
For chance the hounds may come this way, to join in the pursuit, sir:
He’ll risk a fall, o’er hedge or wall, or nearest the hounds, sir,
And if he can, he leads the van, and tally O the hounds, sir.
Saint Stephen’s day, that holy morn, as he was reading mass sir,
He heard the music of the hounds, the bugles they came past, sir;
He shut the book, his flock forsook, and streight threw off his gown, sir,
He mounts his horse, to join the course, and tally O the hounds, sir.
This parson had a pair to wed, the hounds they came in view sir,