Part 2 — No 72 THE SONG OF THE MOOR

1 'Tis merry in the Spring-time 'Tis blithe upon the moor, Where every man is equal, For every man is poor. I do what I've a mind to, And none can say me Nay, I go where I'm inclin'd to, On all sides right of way. O the merry Dartamoor! O the merry moor! I would not be where I'm not free, As I am upon the moor.

2 'Tis merry in the Summer, When furze is out and sweet, The bees about it humming, In honey bathe their feet. The plover and the peewit How cheerily they pipe, And underfoot the whortle Is waxing blue and ripe. O the merry &c. 3 'Tis merry in the Fall-time When snipe and cock appear, And never see a keeper To say, No shooting here! The turf we stock for fuel And ask no better fire, And never pay a farthing, For all that we require. O the merry &c. 4 'Tis merry in the Winter The wind is on the moor, For twenty miles to leeward The people hear the roar. 'Tis merry in the ingle Beside a Moorland lass, When watching turves a-glowing, The brimming bumpers pass. O the merry &c.