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 wit's 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.