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And when we march’d to Paris gates,
with drums and trumpets so merrily,
O then bespoke the King in France,
have mercy Lord on my men and me.
O I will send him his tribute home,
ten tun of gold that was due to he.
And the best Flower that is in all France,
to the Rose in England I will give free.
THE PARSON’S FAT WEDDER.
M A R T I N M A S is now come on,
and Christmas is drawing near:
And we have nothing in the house,
for to make good Christmas cheer. Fal &c.
The little wee boy he’s standing by,
and hearing what his father did say.
Father, we’ll kill the Minister’s Wedder,
and we'll have (illegible text) without delay.
The Priest he has a good fat Wedder,
as e’er was fed on corn or grass:
I’ve got some crumbs of bread in my pocket,
I’ll wyle the Wedder into the house.
We will put on the mei(illegible text) kettle,
and (illegible text)ks below't to make it boil;
And we will kill the Minister’s Wedder,
and we’ll have mutton without any toil.
The little wee boy goes to the wood,
and ay (illegible text)e merrily as he sang,
My father has kill'd the Minister's Wedder,
I would not tell this to any man.