| 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. |
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| 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. |
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| 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 an old sock full: |
| And there the king
is but as the beggar. |
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| 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. |