Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE JOVIAL COBBLER OF SAINT HELEN'S, by ANONYMOUS


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE JOVIAL COBBLER OF SAINT HELEN'S, by                    
First Line: "I am a jovial cobbler, bold and brave"
Last Line: "I am the happiest mortal, mortal of them all"
Subject(s): Happiness;shoes; Joy;delight;boots;sneakers;shoemakers


I AM a jovial cobbler, bold and brave,
And as for employment, enough I have
For to keep jogging my hammer and my awl,
Whilst I sit singing and whistling in my stall.

But there's Dick the carman, and Hodge, who drives the dray
For sixteen or eighteen pence a day,
They slave in the dirt, whilst I, with my awl,
Do get more money sitting, singing, whistling in my stall.

And there's Tom the porter, companion of the pot,
Who stands in the street, with his rope and knot,
Waiting in a corner to hear who will him call,
Whilst I am getting money, money, money in my stall.

And there's the jolly broom-man, his bread for to get,
Cries "Brooms" up and down in the open street,
And one cries "Broken glasses, though never so small,"
Whilst I am getting money, money, money in my stall.

And there is a gang of poor smutty souls,
Who trudge up and down, to cry "Small coals,"
With a sack on their back, at the door stand and call,
Whilst I am getting money, money, money in my stall.

And others there are with another note,
Who cry up and down, "An old suit or coat,"
And perhaps, on some days, they get nothing at all,
Whilst I sit singing, getting money, money in my stall.

And there's a jolly cooper, with hoops at his back,
Who trudgeth up and down to see who lack
Their casks to be made tight, with hoops great and small,
Whilst I sit singing, getting money, money in my stall.

And there's a jolly tinker, who loves a bonny lass,
Who trudges up and down to mend old brass,
With his long smutty pouch, to force holes withal,
Whilst I sit singing, getting money, money in my stall.

And there's another, call'd old Tommy Terrah,
Who, up and down the city, does drive with a barrow,
To try to sell his fruit to great and to small,
Whilst I sit singing, getting money, money in my stall.

And there are the blind, and the lame with wooden leg,
Who up and down the city are forced to beg:
They get crumbs of comfort, the which are but small,
Whilst I sit singing, getting money, money in my stall.

And there's a gang of wenches, who oysters do sell;
And then Powder Moll, with her scent-sweet smell;
She trudges up and down with powder and with ball,
Whilst I sit singing, getting money, money in my stall.

And there are jovial girls with their milking-pails,
Who trudge up and down, with their draggle-tails
Flip-flapping at their heels; for customers they call,
Whilst I sit singing, getting money, money in my stall.

These are the gang who do take great pain,
And it is these who me maintain,
But when it blows and rains, I do pity them all
To see them trudge about, while I am in my stall.

And there are many more who slave and toil,
Their living to get, but it's not worth while
To mention them all; so I'll sing in my stall,
I am the happiest mortal, mortal of them all.





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