A Cobler there was, and he liv'd…

A Cobler there was, and he liv'd in a stall, Which serv'd him for parlour, for kitchen, and hall, No coin in his pocket, nor care in his pate, No ambition had he, nor duns at his gate: Derry down, down, down, derry down.

Contented he work'd, and he thought himself happy If at night he could purchase a jug of brown happy: How he'd laugh then, and whistle, and sing too most sweet! Saying, just to a hair I have made both ends to meet: Derry down, down, &c.

But love, the disturber of high and of low, That shoots at the peasant as well as the beau; He shot the poor cobler quite thorough the heart; I wish he had hit some more ignoble part: Derry down, down, &c.

It was from a celler this archer did play, Where a buxom young damsel continually lay; Her eyes shone so bright when she rose ev'ry day, That she shot the poor cobler quite over the way: Derry down, down, &c.

He sung her love songs as he sat at his work, But she was as hard as a Jew or a Turk; Whenever he spake, she would flounce and would fleer, Which put the poor cobler quite into despair: Derry down, down, &c.

He took up his awl that he had in the world, And to make away with himself was resolv'd; He pierc'd through his body instead of his sole, So the cobler he died, and the bell it did toll. Derry down, down, &c.

And now, in good will, I advise as a friend, All coblers take warning by this cobler's end; Keep your hearts out of love, for we find by what's past, That love brings us all to an end at the last. Derry down, &c.