The King

Health, love and peace be all here in this place

By your leave we shall 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