LXXII The Jovial Beggar
There was a jovial beggar,
He had a wooden leg,
Lame from his cradle,
And forced for to beg.
And a-begging we will go,
Will go, will go,
And a-begging we will go.
A bag for his oatmeal,
Another for his salt,
And a long pair of crutches,
To show that he can halt.
And a-begging we will go,
Will go, will go,
And a-begging we will go.
A bag for his wheat,
Another for his rye,
And a little bottle by his side,
To drink when he’s a-dry.
And a-begging we will go,
Will go, will go,
And a-begging we will go.
Seven years I begg’d
For my old master Wilde,
He taught me how to beg
When I was but a child.
And a-begging we will go,
Will go, will go,
And a-begging we will go.
I begg’d for my master,
And got him store of pelf,
But goodness now be praised,
I’m begging for myself.
And a-begging we will go,
Will go, will go,
And a-begging we will go.
In a hollow tree
I live, and pay no rent,
Providence provides for me,
And I am well content.
And a-begging we will go,
Will go, will go,
And a-begging we will go.
Of all the occupations
A beggar’s is the best,
For whenever he’s a-weary,
He can lay him down to rest.
And a-begging we will go,
Will go, will go,
And a-begging we will go.
I fear no plots against me,
I live in open cell:
Then who would be a king, lads,
When the beggar lives so well?
And a-begging we will go,
Will go, will go,
And a-begging we will go.
Old Song