Away to Twiver

And did you not hear of a mirth that befell

The morrow after a wedding day,

At carrying a bride at home to dwell?

And away to Twiver, away, away!

The quintain was set and the garlands were made,

'Tis pity old custom should ever decay;

And woe be to him that was horsed on a jade,

For he carried no credit away, away!

We met a consort of fiddle-de-dees,

We set them a-cockhorse, and made them to play

The Winning of Bullen

and

Upsiefrees;

And away to Twiver, away, away!

There was ne'er a lad in all the parish

That would go to the plough, to the plough that day

But on his forehorse his wench he carries;

And away to Twiver, away, away!

The butler was quick and the ale he did tap,

The maidens did make the chamber full gay;

The serving men gave me a fuddleing cap,

And I did carry it away, away!

The smith of the town his liquor so took

That he was persuaded the ground look'd blue;

And I dare boldly to swear on a book

Such smiths as he there are but a few.

A posset was made and the women did sip,

And simpering said they could eat no more;

Full many a maid was laid on the lip:

I'll say no more but so give o'er.