This is for all ill-treated fellows - Unborn and unbegot, For them to read when they're in trouble And I am not

And malt does more than Milton can To justify the ways of God to man

Little is the luck I've had, And oh, 'tis comfort small - To think that many another lad - Has had no luck at all

Nature not content with denying him the ability to think, has endowed him with the ability to write

That is the land of lost content, I see it shining plain, the happy highways where I went and cannot come again

Oh I have been to Ludlow fair, and left my necktie God knows where. And carried half way home, or near, pints and quarts of Ludlow beer. Then the world seemed none so bad, and I myself a sterling lad. And down in lovely muck I've lain, happy -- till I woke up again.