itting, sitting in my Stall_, &c.

And there's _Tom_ the Porter, Companion of the Pot,
Who stands in the Street with his Rope and Knot,
Waiting at a Corner to hear who will him call,
_Whilst I am getting Money, Money in my Stall_, &c.

And there's the jolly Broom-man, his Bread for to get,
Crys Brooms up and down in the open Street,
And one crys broken Glasses tho' ne'er so small,
_Whilst I am getting Money, Money in my Stall_, &c.

And there's another gang of poor smutty Souls,
Doth trudge up and down to cry Small-coals;
With a Sack on their Back, at a Door stand and call,
_Whilst I am getting Money, Money in my Stall_, &c.

And there's another sort of Notes,
Who crys up and down old Suits and Coats;
And perhaps some Days get nothing at all,
_Whilst I sit getting Money, Money in my Stall_, &c.

And there's the Jolly Cooper with his Hoops at his Back,
Who trudgeth up and down to see who lack
Their Casks to be made tite, with Hoops great and small,
_Whilst I sit getting Money, Money in my Stall_, &c.

And there's a Jolly Tinker that loves a bonny Lass,
Who trudges up and down to mend old Brass;
With his long smutty Punch to force holes withal,
_Whilst I sit getting Money, Money in my Stall_, &c.

And there is another old _Tom Terrah_,
Who up and down the City drives his Barrow;
To sell his Fruit both great and small,
_Whilst I sit getting Money, Money in my Stall_, &c.

And there is the Blind and Lame, with a Wooden Leg,
Who up and down the City they forced are to beg
Some Crumbs of Comfort, the which are but small,
_Whilst I sit getting Money, Money in my Stall_, &c.

And there's a gang of Wenches who Oysters sell,
And Powder _Moll_ with her sweet smell;
She trudges up and down with Powder and Ball,
_Whilst I sit getting Money, Money in my Stall_, &c.

And there's the jovial Girls with their Milking-Pails,
Who trudge up and down with their Draggle Tails:
Flip flapping at their Heels for Custom they call,
_Whilst I sit getting Money, Money in my Stall_, &c.

'Tis these are the Gang who take great Pain,
And it is those who do me maintain;
But when it blows and rains I do pity them all,
_To see them trudge about while I am in my Stall_, &c.

And there's many more who slave and toil,
Their living to get, but it is not worth while,
To mention them, so I'll sing in my Stall,
_I am the happiest Mortal, Mortal of them all,_
_All, all, I am the happiest Mortal, Mortal of them all._