| First Line |
Page |
Verses |
| Conven'd we're met my jovial souls |
10-11 |
7 |
| Fair charity would not to Gods be confin'd |
11-12 |
7 |
| Ye gracious pow'rs of choral song |
12-14 |
5 |
| Ask you who's singing here? |
14 |
3 |
| Mason's daughter, fair and young, A |
15 |
4 |
| It's down in yonder shady grove |
15-16 |
6 |
| Hail! brother Mason's Hail! |
16-17 |
4 |
| Come now all ye social pow'rs |
18 |
5 |
| John Bull for pastime, took a prance |
19-20 |
5 |
| Cease a while ye winds to blow |
20-21 |
3 |
| My temples with clusters of grape I'll entwine |
21-22 |
5 |
| What joys do the Craft on each Mason bestow |
22-23 |
5 |
| O nightingale best poet of the grove |
23-24 |
4 |
| Bright Chanticlere proclaims the dawn |
24-26 |
3 |
| With women and wine I defy ev'ry care |
26-27 |
5 |
| Go patter to lubbers and swabs do ye see |
27-29 |
4 |
| Let Masons be merry each night when they meet |
29-30 |
4 |
| Were I oblig'd to beg my bread |
30-31 |
3 |