The Whimple Wassail

A wassail a wassail, the moon she shines down

Our apples are ripe and our nuts they are brown

For when you shall bud dear old apple tree

And when you shall bear we’ll sing unto thee

With our wassail a-wassail a-wassail

And joy come to our jolly wassail!

Oh apple tree prosper, bud, bloom and bear

So we may have plenty of cider next year

And where there’s a barrel we hope there’ll be ten

So we may have cider when we come again

Oh mistress and master our wassail begin

Please open your door and let us come in

Besides all on earth you’ll have apples in store