All you that jovial Tinkers are, Come listen unto me: I dreamed a dream that was so rare, That none to it I can compare, No Tinker such did see. I thought I was a King indeed, Attired gay and fine; In a stately palace I did tread, Was to a princely banquet led, And had good cheer of wine. But soon I found me in a ditch, That did no comfort lend; This shows a Tinker, though he itch To be a Prince, or to grow rich, Must still old kettles mend. CHAPTER II. _The Courtier's Trick upon the Tinker for complaining that he could get no drink at his house._ The Tinker I have before mentioned, not knowing the house where he had been so nobly entertained, and which he only took for a vision, and often walking that road and crying old brass to mend, had been called in to work, and was often asked various questions by the servants, and as often told them his imaginary vision; but they giving him no strong liquor, he often complained of it in the town, saying, "Though some had praised Sir John's liberality, and how free he was of his liquor, yet for his own part, he could say no such thing, as having ever found him so stingy and niggardly, that not so much as one sup of his famed March or October beer could he get." This being babbled about came to the Courtier's ears, who was resolved to punish his sauciness, though in a comical way. So one day as he was passing by, he ordered him to be called in to do some work; and after he had done it to come to him (as having laid all his schemes with his servants beforehand). "Come, old fellow," said he, "you look as if you were as dry as Vulcan. What say you if I should order you where you may have your fill of good drink? Would not you be glad of it?" "Ay, master," said he, making a nod and a scrape, "God's blessing on your heart for it, and I thank you too."