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,