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 !

Songs From The Clay [1915]