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A fine dinner was dress’d, both for him and his
guests; He was placed at the table above all the rest, In a rich chair or bed, lined with fine crimson
red, With a rich golden canopy over his head : As he sat at his meat the music play'd sweet, With the choicest of singing, his joys to complete.
While the tinker did dine, he had plenty of wine,
Then the duke did ordain, they should strip him
amain, And restore him his old leather garments again : 'Twas a point next the worst, yet perform it they
must, And they carried him straight where they found
him at first; Then he slept all the night, as indeed well be
might; But when he did waken his joys took their flight.
For his glory to him so pleasant did seem,
he sought For a pardon, as fearing he'd set him at nought;
But his highness he said, “Thou’rt a jolly bold
blade, Such a frolic before I think never was play'd.'
Then his highness bespoke him a new sait and
cloke, Which he gave for the sake of this frolicsome joke; Nay, and five hundred pound, with ten acres of
ground: 'Thou shalt never,' said he, 'range the countries
round, Crying, Old brass to mend, for I'll be thy good
friend, Nay, and Joan thy sweet wife shall my duchess
Then the tinker replied, 'What! must Joan, my
sweet bride, Be a lady, in chariots of pleasure to ride? Must we have gold and land ev'ry day at command? Then I shall be a squire, I well understand : Well, I thank your good grace, and your love I
embrace; I was never before in so happy a case.'
All your tackle out look,
See that all things be right,
For 'tis a very spite
Your rod with tops two,
For the same will not do
And full well you may think,
If you troll with a pink,
Then basket, neat made
By a master in's trade,
For none e'er was so vain
To wear this to disdain,
Next, pouch must not fail,
Stuff'd as full as a mail, With wax, cruels, silks, hair, fars, and feathers,
To make several Aies
For the several skies,
The boxes and books
For your lines and your hooks, And, though not for strict need notwithstanding,
Your scissors, and your hone
To adjust your points on,
All these being on,
'Tis bigh time we were gone, Down, and upward, that all may have pleasure ;
Till, here meeting at night,
We shall have the delight
The day's not too bright,
And the wind hits us right,
We have all things at will
For to second our skill,
Or stream now, or still,
A large panier will fill,
I dare venture to say
'Twill be a bloody day, And we all shall be weary of killing.
Away then, away,
We lose sport by delay,
If Misfortune do come,
We are all gone from home, And a fishing she never can find us.
The angler is free
From the cares that degree
And although we should slay
Each a hundred to-day, 'Tis a slaughter needs ne'er be repented.
And though we display
All our arts to betray
Yet both princes and states
May, for all our quaint baits,
We scratch not our pates,
Nor repine at the rates
But do frankly submit,
Knowing they have more wit
Whilst quiet we sit
We conclude all things fit, Acquiescing with hearty submission;
For, though simple, we know
That soft murmurs will grow At the last unto downright sedition.
We care not who says,
And intends it dispraise,
Let him prate, what care we?
We're as honest as he,
We covet no wealth,
But the blessing of health,
Such devotion we bring
To our God and our king, That from either no offers can win.
Whilst we sit and fish
We do pray as we wish, For long life to our king James the Second;
Honest anglers then may,
Or they've very foul play, With the best of good subjects be reckon'd.