Page:Freemason's song.pdf/8

 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