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My friend ſo rare, my girl ſo fair,
with ſuch what mortal can be richer?
Give me but theſe, a fig for care,
with my ſweet girl, my friend and pitcher.
From morning fun I'd never grieve
to toil, a hedger, or a ditcher,
If that, when I come home at eve,
I might enjoy my friend and pitcher.
Though fortune ever ſhuns my door,
(I know not what can thus bewitch her,)
With all my heart I can be poor,
with my ſweet girl, my friend and pitcher
FINIS.
