To Pimlico we'll go, Where merry we shall be, With ev'ry Man a Can in's Hand, And a Wench upon his knee. And when that we're disposed, We ramble on the Grass, With long patch'd Coats for To hide a pretty Lass. Seven years I served, My old Master Wild; Seven years I begged Whilst I was but a Child. I had the pretty knack, For to wheedle and to cry; By young and by old, Much pitied e'er was I. Fatherless and Motherless Still was my complaint, And none that ever saw me, But took me for a Saint. |
I begg'd for my Master And got him store of Pelf; But Jove now be praised, I now beg for myself Within a hollow Tree, I live, and pay no Rent; Providence provides for me, And I am well content, Of all Occupations, A Beggar lives the best, For when he is weary, He'll lie him down and rest. I fear no Plots against me, But live in open Cell; Why who would be a king, When a Beggar lives so well? There's a bed for me where e'er I lie And I don't pay no rent; I've got no noisy looms to mind And I am reet content. |
I can rest when I'm tired, I need no master's bell, A man'd be daft to be a king When beggars live so well." |