Give me, give me.
A larger farm well tilled,
A bigger house well filled,
A taller wife well willed—
Give me, give me.
I like the farm well tilled,
And I like the house well filled,
But no wife at all—
Give me, give me."
Entering, I saw one of the kind of men God loves. He was of middle age, very honest and simple in the face, good-humoured and cheerful. He was sitting before a tall, leather black jack—one of the finest specimens of the old-fashioned leather jugs I have ever seen—quaffing his morning ale from it. He paused from his song and lifted his wide straw hat in a grandiloquent way.