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 pair of crutches, To show that he can halt. And a-begging we will go— A bag for his wheat, Another for his rye, A little bottle by his side To drink when he's a-dry. And a-begging we will go— Seven years I begged For my old Master Wild, He taught me to beg When I was but a child. And a-begging we will go— I begged for my master, And got him store of pelf; But now, Jove be praised! I'm begging for myself. 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— Of all the occupations, A beggar's life's the best, For whenever he's a-weary, He'll lay him down and rest. And a-begging we will go— I fear no plots against me, I live in open cell; Then who would be a king, When beggars live so well? And a-begging we will go, will go, will go, And a-begging we will go! |