From the hagg and hungrie goblin
that into rags would rend ye,
   And the spirit that stands 
   by the naked man
in the Book of Moons defend ye!

That of your five sound senses
you never be forsaken,
   Nor wander from 
   yourselves with Tom
abroad to beg your bacon.

      While I doe sing, "Any food, any feeding,
      Feeding, drink and clothing."
      Come dame or maid, be not afraid,
      Poor Tom will injure nothing.

Of thirty bare years have I
twice twenty bin enragèd,
   And of forty bin 
   three times fifteene
in durance soundly cagèd.

On the lordlie loftes of Bedlem,
with stubble softe and dainty,
   Brave bracelets strong, 
   sweet whips ding-dong,
and wholesome hunger plenty,

      And nowe I sing, "Any food, any feeding,
      Feeding, drink and clothing."
      Come dame or maid, be not afraid,
      Poor Tom will injure nothing.

When I short have shorne my sowre face
and swigg'd my oaken barrel,
   in an oaken inn 
   I pound my skin
in a suit of gilt apparell.

The moon's my constant mistresse,
And the [lowlie owle]1 my marrowe;
   The flaming Drake 
   and the night-crowe make
me music to my sorrowe.

      While I doe sing, "Any food, any feeding,
      Feeding, drink and clothing."
      Come dame or maid, be not afraid,
      Poor Tom will injure nothing.

I know more than Apollo,
for oft when he lies sleeping
   I [see]2  the stars 
   at [bloody]3 wars
[in the wounded]4 welkin weeping;

The moone [embrace]5 her shepheard,
And the Queen of love her warryor.
   While the first [doth borne 
   the star of morne]6,
And the next the heavenly Farrier.

      While I doe sing, "Any food, any feeding,
      Feeding, drink and clothing."
      Come dame or maid, be not afraid,
      Poor Tom will injure nothing.

The Gypsie Snap and Pedro,
are none of Tom's comradoes,
   The punk I scorn 
   and the cutpurse sworn,
and the roaring boy's bravadoe.

The meeke, the white, the gentle,
Me handle, touch, and spare not,
   But those that crosse 
   Tom Rynosseros
Doe what the panther dare not.

      Although I sing, "Any food, any feeding,
      Feeding, drink and clothing."
      Come dame or maid, be not afraid,
      Poor Tom will injure nothing.

With an [host]7 of furious fancies,
whereof I am commander,
   With a burning spear 
   and a horse of air,
to the wilderness I wander.

[By]8 a knight of ghostes and shadows
I summoned am to tourney.
   Ten leagues beyond 
   the wide world's end.
[Me thinke]9 it is no journey.

      Yet will I sing, "Any food, any feeding,
      Feeding, drink and clothing."
      Come dame or maid, be not afraid,
      Poor Tom will injure nothing.