But years ring changes as they roll--

Cho. _Now always merry, &c_.

When the moon gets up with her big round face,
Like Mistress Poll's in the market-place,
Down to the village below we pace;--
We know a supper that wants a grace:
Past the curtsying women we go,
Past the smithy, all a glow,
To the snug little houses at top of the row--

Cho. _For always merry, &c_.

And there we find, among the ale,
The fragments of a floating tale:
To piece them together we never fail;
And we fit them rightly, I'll go bail.
And so we have them all in hand,
The lads and lasses throughout the land,
And we are the masters,--you understand?

Cho. _So always merry, &c_.

Last night we had such a game of play
With the nephews and nieces over the way,
All for the gold that belonged to the clay
That lies in lead till the judgment-day!
The old man's soul they'd leave in the lurch,
But we saved her share for old Mamma Church.