Sing all, and say we thus,
"Much thanks to you, my purse."
When my purse is full enough
I have both horse and plow,
And also I have friends enough,
Through the virtue of my purse.
When my purse begins to slack,
And there is nothing in my pack,
Then they say, "Farewell, Jack;
You'll drink no more with us."
Thus is my good forlorn;
My purse's lining is all torn;
I can as well play with a horn
Instead of with my purse.
Farewell, horse, and farewell, cow;
Farewell, cart, and farewell, plow;
I'll just sit and play with a bough,
And say, "God, what is all this?"