trad.

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 traveled many miles,
over hedges and stiles
In search of our King,
unto you we bring

We have powder and shot,
for to conquer the lot
We have cannon and ball,
to conquer them all

Now Christmas is past,
Twelfth tide is the last
And we bid you adieu,
great joy to the new