Sheepshearing’s Over, or A Harvest Song

Here’s a harvest song that Cliff will sometimes pull out of his hat.

The sheepshearing’s over,
The summer is past,
Drink an health to our mistress
All in a full glass.
She is a good woman
And she brings us good cheer;
Here’s an health to our mistress
All in a good glass of beer.

Here’s an health unto the master,
He’s the founder of the feast.
We hope to God with all our hearts,
His soul in heaven may rest.
That all his works may prosper,
Whatever he takes in hand,
For we are all his servants
And all at his command.

So drink, boys, drink! And see that you do not spill,
For if you do, you shall drink two, for ’tis our master’s will.

And now we’ve drunk the master’s health,
Why should the missus go free?
Why shouldn’t she go to heaven
To heaven as well as he?
She is a good provider,
Abroad as well as at home,
So take your cup and sup it up,
For ’tis our harvest home.


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