And the springing corn, and the bright May morn,
When first you were my bride.
In the Days when I was Hard Up.
In the days when I was hard up, not many years ago,
I suffered that which only can the sons of misery know;
Relations, friends, companions, they all turned up their nose,
And they rated me a vagabond for want of better clothes.
In the days when I was hard up, for want of food and fire,
I used to tie my shoes up with little bits of wire;