THE smith who made the manacles,
With bar and bolt, and link and ring,
Sang out above his hearty blows
'I can't have grief for everything.'

As Roger by the rope-walk went
The bramble-bird cheeped up to sing;
He cut the wanted coil, and said
'I can't have grief for everything.'

The lad who came to Ladder Lane,
And saw his hemp-cravat a-string,
'Jack's doom 's Jill's dule,' he said, 'but then,
I can't have grief for everything.'
And I who carried bag and wig,
Looked up and saw him turn and swing;
The dog he gave fixed eyes on me
Can I have grief for everything?