The Frolicksome Spark.
A NEW SONG.
|
YE frolicksome sparks of the game,
|
Ye misers both wretched and old,
|
Come listen to Billy by name,
|
Who once had his hat full of gold:
|
And seven score acres of land,
|
With corn and cattle in store,
|
But now I have none at command,
|
Yet my heart is as gay as before.
|
My father was cloathed in leather,
|
My mother in sheep russel grey,
|
They labourd in all sorts of weather,
|
That I might go gallant and gay;
|
With my rapier hat mounted with feather
|
My heart too as light as a cork,
|
And what the old folks scrapd together,
|
I spread it abroad with my fork.
|
The merchant who trades on the sea,
|
For riches you very well know,
|
His heart can neer be at ease,
|
When terrible tempests do blow;
|
His happiness is v[e]rry small,
|
For fear of some terrible news,
|
But he that has got nothing at all,
|
Has little or nothing to lose.
|
Shoud they make me a justice of peace,
|
An alderman, sheriff, or lord mayor,
|
With riches my cares would encrease,
|
And throw me quite into despair;
|
I love to be jolly and free,
|
Ill neer be concernd in the state,
|
My mind is a kingdom to me,
|
Theres danger in being too great.
|
Some say that care killd a cat,
|
It starvd her and causd her to die;
|
But I will be wiser then that,
|
For the devil a care will have I,
|
But to toss of a jolly full bowl,
|
To drive away sorrow and strife,
|
Heres a health to that honest brave soul,
|
Who never knew care in his life.
|
|
|
|
|
|