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In bark they must be clean, And finely grown in root, sir, Well trimmed in head, I ween, And sturdy in the shoot, sir.

O the jovial days when the apple trees do bear, We 'll drink and be merry all the gladsome year. "The pretty trees you plant, Attention now will need, sir, That nothing they may want, Which to mention I proceed, sir. You must not grudge a fence 'Gainst cattle, tho 't be trouble; They will repay the expense In measure over double. O the jovial days, &c.

"To give a man great joy, And see his orchard thrive, sir, A skilful hand employ To use the pruning knife, sir. To lop each wayward limb, That seemeth to offend, sir; Nor fail at Fall, to trim Until the tree's life end, sir. O the jovial days, &c.

"All in the month of May, The trees are clothed in bloom, sir, As posies bright and gay, Both morning, night and noon, sir. 'Tis pleasant to the sight, 'Tis sweet unto the smell, sir, And if there be no blight, The fruit will set and swell, sir. O the jovial days, &c.

"The summer oversped, October drawing on, sir; The apples gold and red Are glowing in the sun, sir.