The market

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!