As I came over Windy Gap They
threw a halfpenny into my cap, For
I am running to Paradise; And
all that I need do is to wish And
somebody puts his hand in the dish To
throw me a bit of salted fish: And
there the king is but as the beggar. My
brother Mourteen is worn out With
skelping his big brawling lout, And
I am running to Paradise; A
poor life, do what he can, And
though he keep a dog and a gun, A
serving-maid and a serving-man: And
there the king is but as the beggar. Poor
men have grown to be rich men, And
rich men grown to be poor again, And
I am running to Paradise; And
many a darling wit's grown dull That
tossed a bare heel when at school, Now
it has filled a old sock full: And
there the king is but as the beggar. The
wind is old and still at play While
I must hurry upon my way. For
I am running to Paradise; Yet
never have I lit on a friend To
take my fancy like the wind That
nobody can buy or bind: And there the king is but as the beggar. |
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