A MAN came to me at the fair
And said, " If you've a poet's tongue
Tumble up and chant the air
That the stars of morning sung.

" I'll pay you, if you sing it nice,
A penny-piece. " — I answered flat,
" Sixpence is the proper price
For a ballad such as that. "

But he stared and wagged his head,
Growling as he passed along,
" Sixpence! well, I'll see you dead
Before I pay that for a song. "

I saw him buy three pints of stout
With the sixpence — dirty lout!