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Now welcome Whitsundie was come, and boys with merry hearts, Were gone to visit their mamma, and eat their pies and tarts.

As soon as John saw his sire, a boon, a boon, he cried, O if I am your darling boy, let me not be denied.

My darling boy indeed thou art, the father wise replied, So name the boon; I promise thee, it shall not be denied.

Then give me Sir, your long lashed whip and give your gig and pair, To drive alone 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 red and lines for fishing.