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 Now welcome Whitsuntide was come,
 * and boys with merry hearts

Were gone to visit their mamma,
 * and eat their pies and tarts.

As soon as Jehu saw his son,
 * a boon a boon, he cried,

O if I am your darling son,
 * let me not be denied.

My darling boy indeed thou, art,
 * the father wile replied:

So name the boon: I promise thee.
 * It shall not be denied.

Then give me. Sir, your long lash’d whip,
 * and give your gig and pair,

That I may drive to yonder town,
 * And flourish through the fair.

The father shook his head;-My son,
 * you know not what you ask;

To drive a gig in crowded streets
 * is no such easy task.

The horses full of rest and corn,
 * scarce I myself can guide.

And much I fear if you attempt,
 * Some mischief will betide.

Then think, dear boy, of something else
 * That’s better worth your wishing;

A bow and quiver, bats and balls,
 * a rod and lines for fishing.