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 !