I am a jovial Cobler bold and brave,
And as for Employment enough I have:
For to keep jogging my Hammer and Awl,
Whilst I sit Singing and Whistling in my Stall,
Stall, Stall, whilst I sit Singing and Whistling in my Stall.
But there’s Dick the Carman, and Hodge who drives the Dray
For Sixteen, or Eighteen Pence a Day,
Slave in the Dirt, whilst I with my Awl,
Get more Money, sitting, sitting in my Stall, &c.
And there’s Tom the Porter, Companion of the Pot,
Who stands in the Street with his Rope and Knot,
Waiting at a Corner to hear who will him call,
Whilst I am getting Money, Money in my Stall, &c.
And there’s the jolly Broom-man, his Bread for to get,
Crys Brooms up and down in the open Street,
And one crys broken Glasses tho’ ne’er so small,
Whilst I am getting Money, Money in my Stall, &c.
And there’s another gang of poor smutty Souls,
Doth trudge up and down to cry Small-coals;
With a Sack on their Back, at a Door stand and call,
Whilst I am getting Money, Money in my Stall, &c.
And there’s another sort of Notes,
Who crys up and down old Suits and Coats;
And perhaps some Days get nothing at all,
Whilst I sit getting Money, Money in my Stall, &c.
And there’s the Jolly Cooper with his Hoops at his Back,
Who trudgeth up and down to see who lack
Their Casks to be made tite, with Hoops great and small,
Whilst I sit getting Money, Money in my Stall, &c.
And there’s a Jolly Tinker that loves a bonny Lass,
Who trudges up and down to mend old Brass;
With his long smutty Punch to force holes withal,
Whilst I sit getting Money, Money in my Stall, &c.
And there is another old Tom Terrah,
Who up and down the City drives his Barrow;
To sell his Fruit both great and small,
Whilst I sit getting Money, Money in my Stall, &c.
And there is the Blind and Lame, with a Wooden Leg,
Who up and down the City they forced are to beg
Some Crumbs of Comfort, the which are but small,
Whilst I sit getting Money, Money in my Stall, &c.
And there’s a gang of Wenches who Oysters sell,
And Powder Moll with her sweet smell;
She trudges up and down with Powder and Ball,
Whilst I sit getting Money, Money in my Stall, &c.
And there’s the jovial Girls with their Milking-Pails,
Who trudge up and down with their Draggle Tails:
Flip flapping at their Heels for Custom they call,
Whilst I sit getting Money, Money in my Stall, &c.
’Tis these are the Gang who take great Pain,
And it is those who do me maintain;
But when it blows and rains I do pity them all,
To see them trudge about while I am in my Stall, &c.
And there’s many more who slave and toil,
Their living to get, but it is not worth while,
To mention them, so I’ll sing in my Stall,
I am the happiest Mortal, Mortal of them all,
All, all, I am the happiest Mortal, Mortal of them all.
The Merchant and the Fidler’s Wife.
[[Listen]]
IT was a Rich Merchant Man,
That had both Ship and all;
And he would cross the salt Seas,
Tho’ his cunning it was but small.
The Fidler and his Wife,
They being nigh at hand;
Would needs go sail along with him,
From Dover unto Scotland.
The Fidler’s Wife look’d brisk,
Which made the Merchant smile;
He made no doubt to bring it about,
The Fidler to beguile.
Is this thy Wife the Merchant said,
She looks like an honest Spouse;
Ay that she is, the Fidler said,
That ever trod on Shoes.
Thy Confidence is very great,
The Merchant then did say;
If thou a Wager darest to bet,
I’ll tell thee what I will lay.
I’ll lay my Ship against thy Fiddle,
And all my Venture too;
So Peggy may gang along with me,
My Cabin for to View.
If she continues one Hour with me,
Thy true and constant Wife;
Then shalt thou have my Ship and be,
A Merchant all thy Life.
The Fidler was content,
He Danc’d and Leap’d for joy;
And twang’d his Fiddle in merriment,
For Peggy he thought was Coy.
Then Peggy she went along,
His Cabin for to View;
And after her the Merchant-Man,
Did follow, we found it true.
When they were once together,
The Fidler was afraid;
For he crep’d near in pitious fear,
And thus to Peggy he said.
Hold out, sweet Peggy hold out,
For the space of two half Hours;
If thou hold out, I make no doubt,
But the Ship and Goods are ours.
In troth, sweet Robin, I cannot,
He hath got me about the Middle;
He’s lusty and strong, and hath laid me along,
O Robin thou’st lost thy Fiddle.
If I have lost my Fiddle,
Then am I a Man undone;
My Fiddle whereon I so often play’d,
Away I needs must run.
O stay the Merchant said,
And thou shalt keep thy place;
And thou shalt have thy Fiddle again,
But Peggy shall carry the Case.
Poor Robin hearing that,
He look’d with a Merry-chear;
His wife she was pleas’d, and the Merchant was eas’d,
And jolly and brisk they were.
The Fidler he was mad,
But valu’d it not a Fig;
Then Peggy unto her Husband said,
Kind Robin play us a Jigg.
Then he took up his Fiddle,
And merrily he did play;
The Scottish Jigg and the Horn pipe,
And eke the Irish Hey.
It was but in vain to grieve,
The Deed it was done and past;
Poor Robin was born to carry the Horn,
For Peggy could not be Chast.
Then Fidlers all beware,
Your Wives are kind you see;
And he that’s made for the Fidling Trade,
Must never a Merchant be.
For Peggy she knew right well,
Although she was but a Woman;
That Gamesters Drink, and Fidlers Wives,
They are ever Free and Common.
The Unconstant Woman.
[[Listen]]
