Tom A'Bedlam's song
There's a recording of the song here:
https://soundcloud.com/ubermodo/tom-o-bedlam
A slightly more suitable set of lyrics are:
From the hagg and hungrie goblin That into raggs would rend ye, And the spirit that stands by the naked man In the Book of Moones - defend ye! That of your five sound senses You never be forsaken, Nor wander from your selves with Tom Abroad to beg your bacon.
While I doe sing "any foode, any feeding, Feedinge, drinke or clothing," Sweet Cit'zens all, be not afraid, Poor Tom will injure nothing.
Of thirty bare years have I Twice twenty been enraged, And of forty been three times fifteen In durance soundly caged. On the lordly lofts of Bedlam, With stubble soft and dainty, Brave bracelets strong, sweet whips ding-dong, With wholesome hunger plenty.
While I doe sing "any foode, any feeding, Feedinge, drinke or clothing," Sweet Cit'zens all, be not afraid, Poor Tom will injure nothing.
With a thought I took for Maudlin And a cruse of cockle pottage, With a thing thus tall, skie blesse you all, I befell into this dotage. I slept not since the Marching, Till then I never waked, Till the roguish boy of love where I lay Me found and stript me naked.
While I doe sing "any foode, any feeding, Feedinge, drinke or clothing," Sweet Cit'zens all, be not afraid, Poor Tom will injure nothing.
When I short have shorne my sowre face And swigged my horny barrel, In an oaken inn I pound my skin As a suit of gilt apparel. The moon's my constant 'panion, And the lowly owl my morrowe, The flaming Drake and the Nightcrow make Me music to my sorrow.
While I doe sing "any foode, any feeding, Feedinge, drinke or clothing," Sweet Cit'zens all, be not afraid, Poor Tom will injure nothing.
The Bravo, Druj and Grendel Are none of Tom's companions. The punk I skorne and the cut purse sworne And the roaring boyes bravadoe. The meek, the white, the gentle, Me handle touch and spare not But those that crosse Tom Rynosseros Do what the panther dare not.
While I doe sing "any foode, any feeding, Feedinge, drinke or clothing," Sweet Cit'zens all, be not afraid, Poor Tom will injure nothing.
With a host of furious fancies Whereof I am commander, With a burning spear and a horse of air, To the wilderness I wander. By a knight of ghostes and shadowes I summon'd am to tourney Ten leagues beyond the wild world's end. Methinks it is no journey.
While I doe sing "any foode, any feeding, Feedinge, drinke or clothing," Sweet Cit'zens all, be not afraid, Poor Tom will injure nothing.