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