The 'Souper Singers' will remember this from last year:
Joy, health, love and peace
Be all here in this place.
By your leave we will 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 may 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.
O, Christmas is past;
Twelfth tide is the last.
We bid you adieu.
Great joy to the new.
I recognise that the final verse is a little premature for the season, but, hey-ho, so what?
A chronicle of 'doings' for posterity... and other things of little consequence!
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