Fifty years shepherd, and fifty a king/The bundle of wants

BUNDLE OF WANTS.

Come, Gentlemen, sit you all merry,
I’ll sing you a song of want;
I’ll make you as merry as can be,
Now my money begins to grow scant.

A woman without ever a tongue,
She never can scold very loud;
It’s just such another sad want,
When a fiddler wants his crowd.

A ship without ever a sail,
May be driven the Lord knows whither,
It’s just such another sad want,
As a shoemaker wanting his leather.

A man that has got but one leg,
Will make but a very bad runner;
And he that’s no eyes in his head,
Will make but a sorrowful gunner.

A bell without ever a clapper,
Will make but a sorrowful sound;
And he that’s no land of his own,
Must work on another man’s ground.

A woman without e’er a fault,
She bright as a star will appear;
But a brewer without any malt,
Will brew us but pitiful beer.

A soldier without any pay,
To fight will be terrible lazy;
And a bed well stocked with fleas,
Will make a man wonderful busy.

A miller without a pair of stones,
He is but a sorrowful soul;
And if he has no corn to grind,

He need not stand taking toll.

A man that has got a bad stomach,
Will make but a pitiful dinner;
And he that’s no victuals to eat,
His jaws will grow thinner and thinner.

You know that a dish of good meat
Is the comfort and joy of man’s life;
But he that’s no victuals to eat,
Has no need to draw out his knife.

A ploughman without e’er a plough,
I think he may live at his ease;
And a dairy without e’er a cow,
Will make but bad butter and cheese.

A man that is pitiful poor,
Has little or nothing to lose;
And he that has got ne’er a foot,
It saves him the buying of shoes.

A woman that never bore children,
Is barren, and so much the worse;
And he that is quite out of money,
Can have no need of a purse.

I hope there’s no one in this place,
Displeas’d any way with my song;
Come, buy up my ballads apace,

And I’ll pack up my awls, and begone.