The cook was in the kitchen,
The feasters in the hall.
A single lady slaving,
Would attempt to feed them all.

A family of newcomers
Saw her cooking on her own
And each one grabbed a pot
And swore she wouldn't cook alone!

(chorus)
The stone is on the kettle
The water's on the boil,
The work is always lighter,
When there's many hands to toil!

Next there came a countess,
Always giving, always kind.
She was set to chopping carrots,
But she bend to tasks aside.

Around the corner peering
Came a shy and gentle man.
"Excuse me for intruding,
But I'll with what I can."



The butchers son declared
That he would brave both cold and heat
And spent the day out doors
To turn and baste the roasting meat.

A mother said "I'd cook
But I've my little one to feed . . .
But we'd be happy to attend
To any errands that you need!"



So soon the fires were roaring up
To meet that feasts' demand!
That single lady slaving
Had a dozen cooks at hand!

So though the work was frenzied
When the servers hit the hall,
The feast was bright and merry
With food enough for all.