Page:Crazy Jane (1).pdf/4

 4 Which unsullied descended to me; For my child I've preserv'd it, unblemish’d by shame And it still from a spot shall be free.

The wealthy fool, with gold in store, Will still desire to grow 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 for care, With my sweet girl, my friend and pitcher.

From morning sun I'd never grieve, To toil, a hedger or a ditcher, If that when l come home at eve, I might enjoy my friend and pitcher. My friend so rare, &c.

Tho' fortune ever shuns my door, I know not what can thus bewitch her. With all my heart can I be poor, With my sweet girl, my friend and pitcher. My friend so rare, &c.