The king
Good health, love and peace be all here in this place
By your leave we will sing, concerning our King.
Our King is well-dressed in silks of the best
In ribbons so rare no king can compare.
We have travelled many miles over hedges and stiles,
In search of our King unto you we bring.
We have powder and shot to conquer the lot,
We have cannon and ball to conquer them all.
Old Christmas is past, twelve tide is the last
And we bid you adieu, great joy to the new.
And we bid you adieu, great joy to the new.