After this, we ransackt their pockets, but found little in the mans; but searching the woman in a private place between her Pocket and Placket, we discovered something considerable, which we took. Having so done, we thought it high time to be gone, but first we resolved to make some sport as well as take their moneys, which was thus: I tied to each of their Girdles, behind, a Flaggon-pot, and to each a Label affixt, or a paper of Verses, and so immediately tript off. The Host seeing us go out of doors with more than ordinary speed, ran into the room where the _Tinker_ and his _Lady_ were: he suddenly awaked them, telling them we were gone. Hearing this, they hastily started up, and reeling ran to overtake us: the Master of the house seeing his Pots dangling at their breech, ran after the _Tinker_, crying, _Stop’em, stop’em, Stop the thievish Tinker, stop the Whore with my Pot_. We were wiser than to stay to hear how the _Tinker_ and his _Trull_ came off, or to hear the laughter that we undoubtedly raised by this waggish contrivance, but directed our course for _London_ directly; where we arrived soon enough, nay too soon for some. This Out-cry soon alarm’d the ears of his Neighbours, who with the Host seizing on them, and carrying them back, gave us an opportunity for our escape. The Lines that were about the _Tinkers_ Pot, were these, to my best remembrance. _Serpents but sting, or only bite so deep, To numb the sense, so lay men fast asleep. Wit acts far greater things. I’ll say no more: Pay first for sleeping, then the Pots restore._ Those that were fastened to the Womans Pot, were these: _’Twas not the Serpent, but strong Beer that stung: The _vent_ being _stopt_, the Drink wrought through the _Bung_._