Running To Paradise

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 wits grown dull     That tossed a bare heel when at school,     Now it has filled an old sock full:     And there the king is but as the beggar.     The wind is old and still at play     While I must hurry 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.