RUNNING TO PARADISE
 
 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.
 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.
 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 a old sock full:
 And there the king is but as the beggar.
 The wind is old and still at play
 While I must hurty 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.