(Tune: The Weaver and His Shuttle, O)
[. . .]
Thus all obscure, unknown, and poor, thro’ life I’m doomed to wander, O
Till down my weary bones I lay in everlasting slumber, O
No view nor care, but shun whate’er might breed me pain or sorrow, O
I live today, as well’s I may, regardless of tomorrow, O.
But cheerful still, I am as well, as a monarch in a palace, O
Tho’ fortune’s frown still hunts me down, with all her wonted malice, O
I make indeed, my daily bread, but ne’er can make it farther, O
But as daily bread is all I need, I do not much regard her, O.