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Our sheep-shear is over and supper is past,
Here's an health to our mistress all in a full glass.
For she is a good woman and provides us with cheer;
Here's an health to our mistress, so drink up your beer.

Here's an health unto the master, he's the founder of the feast;
We hope to God with all our hearts that his soul in heaven do rest.
Here's hoping that he prospers, whatever he takes in hand
For we are all his servants and we are at his command.

So drink, boys, drink! And see that you do not spill,
If you do, you shall drink two, for that is our master's will.

And now we've drunk to the master's health, and why shouldn't the mistress go free?
Why shouldn't she go to heaven, to heaven as well as he?
For she is a good provider, abroad as well as at home,
So take your cup and sup it up, for 'tis our harvest home.

So drink, boys, drink! And see that you do not spill,
If you do, you shall drink two, for that is our master's will.

So drink, boys, drink! And see that you do not spill,
If you do, you shall drink two, for that is our master's will.

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