For to see my Tom of Bedlam, 10,000 miles I’d travel
Mad Maudlin goes on dirty toes, to save her shoes from gravel.
Still I sing bonnie boys, bonnie mad boys,
Bedlam boys are bonnie
For they all go bare and they live by the air,
And they want no drink nor money.
I went down to Satin’s kitchen, for to beg me food one morning
There I got souls piping hot, all on the spit a turning.
There I picked up a cauldron, Where boiled 10,000 harlots
Though full of flame I drank the same, to the health of all such varlets.
My staff has murdered giants, my bag a long knife carries
For to cut mince pies from children’s thighs, with which to feed the fairies.
Spirits white as lightning, shall on my travels guide me
The moon would quake and the stars would shake, when’ ere they espied me.
No gypsy slut nor doxy, shall win my Mad Tom from me
I’ll weep all night, the stars I’ll fight, the fray will well become me.
It’s when next I have murdered, the Man-In-The-Moon to powder
His staff I’ll break, his dog I’ll bake, they’ll howl no demon louder.
So drink to Tom of Bedlam, he’ll fill the seas in barrels
I’ll drink it all, all brewed with gall, with Mad Maudlin I will travel.
I have sung that song many times, as my Morris side gathered over pints of ale.