THE FRIEND AND PITCHER.
The wealthy fool with gold in store, still desire to- grow the richer; Give me but these, I ask no more; My charming girl, my friend and pitcher. My friend so rare, my girl so fair, With such what mortal can be richer; Give me but these, a fig far care, With my sweet girl, my friend & picher.
From morning sun I’d never grieve To toil a hedger or a ditcher, If that, when I came home at eve, I might enjoy my friend and pitcher. My friend so rare, &c. Though Fortune ever shuns my*door, (I know not what can thus bewitch her), With all my heart cam I be poor, With my sweet girl, my friend and pitcher. My friend so rare, #c.
THO’ I AM NOW A VERY LITTLE LAD.
Though I am now a very little lad, If fighting men cannot be had,
