As I came over Windy Gap They threw a halfpenny into my cap. For I am running to paradise; And all that I need do is to wish And somebody puts his hand in the dish To throw me a bit of salted fish: And there the king is but as the beggar. My brother Mourteen is worn out With skelping his big brawling lout, And I am running to paradise; A poor life, do what he can, And though he keep a dog and a gun, A serving-maid and a serving-man: And there the king is but as the beggar. Poor men have grown to be rich men, And rich men grown to be poor again, And I am running to paradise; And many a darling wit's grown dull That tossed a bare heel when at school, Now it has filled a old sock full: And there the king is but as the beggar. The wind is old and still at play While I must hurty upon my way. For I am running to paradise; Yet never have I lit on a friend To take my fancy like the wind That nobody can buy or bind: And there the king is but as the beggar.