For a pardon, as fearing he had set him at nought:
But his Highness he said, “Thou’rt a jolly bold blade:
Such a frolick before, I think, never was plaid.”
Then his Highness bespoke him a new suit and cloak,
Which he gave for the sake of this frolicksome joak:
Nay, and five-hundred pound, with ten acres of ground:
“Thou shalt never,” said he, “range the counteries round,
Crying ‘old brass to mend,’ for I’ll be thy good friend,
Nay, and Joan thy sweet wife shall my Duchess attend.”
Then the Tinker replyed; “What! must Joan my sweet bride