Part 2 — LXXII

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.