Jog on, jog on the full pathway, and merrily hent the styler.

A merry heart goes all the day, your sad ties in a miler.

Your paltry money bags of gold, what need have we to stare for, when little or nothing soon is told, and we have the last to care for?

Cast care away, let sorrows cease, a fig for melancholy.

Let's laugh and sing, and if you please, we'll frolic with sweet Molly.

Jog on, jog on the full pathway, and merrily hemp the styler.

A merry heart goes all by day, your sad ties in a miler.