CHORUS.
"Lack-a-day, well-a-day!" then let us sing,
And mourn for the loss of this good little King.
* * * * *
Except just by way of a lark,
His militia he never would call out,
He then made them shoot at a mark
Till they had shot all their powder and ball out.
CHORUS.
"Lack-a-day, well-a-day!" then let us sing,
And mourn for the loss of this good little King.
To his neighbours he always was kind,
He never extended his boundaries,
For disputes and contentions, I find,
He never saw any just ground arise:
Pleasure's code being his statute law
He ne'er caused a tear to be shed, sir,
Though I swear not a dry eye I saw,
When his subjects first heard he was dead, sir.
CHORUS.
"Lack-a-day, well-a-day!" well might they sing,
When they mourned the sad loss of their good little King.
His portrait you must have observed,
In remarkably good preservation,
For his eminent virtues deserved
You'll allow, a conspicuous station:
"The King's Head" still continues his name,
Where full often the people on holidays
As they tipple, still talk of his name,
In lamenting the end of his jolly days.
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