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 reply’d, 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?