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Gentlemen, pray sit you all merry,

I'll sing you a song of a want,

I'll make you as merry as may be,

Now money begins to grow scant.

Those lines they are absolute new,

Good people I tell unto you,

I must dispise the telling of lies,

This ditty's both merry and true.

A woman without e’er a tongue

She never can scold very loud,

'Tis just such another sad want,

When a ballad singer wants a crowd.

A piper without e'er a bag,

Will make but a sorrowfull sound,

A barber without e'er a'razor,

Needs neither a strap nor a hound.

A ship that's without e’er a sail,

May be driven we know not whither

’Tis just such another sad want,

When a shoe-maker wants his leather.