Simon, I have heard thy singers
Squeaking, squalling, shouting, brawling
Raving, roaring, what a din!
Enough to make one's blood run thin.
I compare thy snaffling choir to
Tumult at a house on fire
Or to hunters in full chase or riots in a market-place
Or angry dogs or schoolboys killing cats
Or scolding wives or brawling brats.
Fie upon their dismal din!
When I did hear it, I do declare it
My hair it stood upright and trembling with a fright
Lord! How my knees did smite!
Such snaffling, sneering, stamping, staring
Sure I thought the fools would fight.
Sol, sol, sol; fah, fah, fah
Well done, lads! Stamp, stamp.
Mind your time. Sol
Fah, sol, sol. Well done, old Sye!