Boatmen’s Chorus An Orphan from my early days My second sight has told me so Exactly four-and-twenty years ago A suitor seeks a bride The Moth draws near the flame Bridal Cake None braver, none so true Arsena, Arsena The morning breaks Beside the rim of yonder clearing Wake, wake, for high is the sun Exit for Chorus Woh tied the knot? To trample on Evil of ev’ry sort Recruiting Song Comrade, dring a glass of wine Away Oh, rejoice! I have no luck at all in love Now we’re going home again March, march, marching along Wedding-bells! Hurrah!