To end my Song I think it long, Come love me whereas I lay, Come give me some drink and I’ll be gone The clean contrary way. [p. 134.] _The Tinker._ [Some of these verses are evidently misplaced: We keep them unchanged, but add side-notes to rectify.] There was a Lady in this Land That lov’d a Gentleman, And could not have him secretly, As she would now and then, Till she devis’d to dress him like A Tinker in Vocation: And thus, disguis’d, she bid him say, He came to clout her Cauldron. His face full fair she smother’s black [2.] That he might not be known, A leather Jerkin on his back, [p. 135.] His breeches rent and torn; With speed he passed to the place, To knock he did not spare: Who’s that, quoth the lady[’s Porter] then, That raps so rashly there. I am a Tinker, then quoth he, [3.] That worketh for my Fee, If you have Vessels for to mend, Then bring them unto me: For I have brass within my bag, And target in my Apron, And with my skill I can well clout, And mend a broken Cauldron. Quoth she, our Cauldron hath most need, [? verse 7.] At it we will begin, For it will hold you half an hour To trim it out and in: But first give me a glass of drink, The best that we do use, For why[,] it is a Tinkers guise No good drink to refuse. Then to the Brew-house hyed they fast, [? verse 8.] This broken piece to mend, He said he would no company, His Craft should not be kend, But only to your self, he said, That must pay me my Fee: I am no common Tinker, But work most curiously. And I also have made a Vow, [? verse 9. p. 136.] I’ll keep it if I may, There shall no mankind see my work, That I may stop or stay: Then barred he the Brew-house door, The place was very dark, He cast his Budget from his back, And frankly fell to work. And whilst he play’d and made her sport, [? verse 10.] Their craft the more to hide, She with his hammer stroke full hard Against the Cauldron side: Which made them all to think, and say, The Tinker wrought apace, And so be sure he did indeed, But in another place. The Porter went into the house, [? verse 4.] Where Servants us’d to dine, Telling his Lady, at the Gate There staid a Tinker fine: Quoth he, much Brass he wears about, And Target in his Apron, Saying, that he hath perfect skill To mend your broken Cauldron. Quoth she, of him we have great need, [? verse 5.] Go Porter, let him in, If he be cunning in his Craft He shall much money win: But wisely wist she who he was, Though nothing she did say, For in that sort she pointed him To come that very day.