The three merry Cobblers,  
Who tell how the case with them doth stand,  
How they are still on the mending hand.  
To the tune of The Spanish Gipsy.  


COme follow fellow me,  
to th' Alehouse we'll march all three,  
Leave Aule Last Thread, and Leather,  
And let's go altogether.  
Our trade excels most trades ith'land,  
For we are st●ll on the mending hand.   

Come Tapster fill us some ale,  
Then harken to our tale,  
And try what can be made  
Of our renowned trade;  
We have Awl at our command,  
And still we are on the mending hand.   

Though Shoemakers us disdain,  
Yet 'tis approved plain,  
Our trade cannot be missed,  
Let them say what they list,  
Though all grow worse quite through the land,  
Yet we are still on the mending hand.   

When Shoemakers are decayed:  
Then do they fall to our trade,  
And glad their minds they give  
By mending Shoes to live,  
When in necessity they stand,  
They strive to be on the mending hand.   

Although there's but few of us rich,  
Yet bravely we go thorough stitch.  
Were't not for this barley broth  
(Which is meat, drink and cloth)  
We sure should purchase house and land,  
At worst we are still on the mending hand.   

We deal most uprightly,  
Our neighbours that go awry  
We easily set upright,  
The broken we unite,  
When all men out of order stand;  
Then we are most on the mending hand:   

We cannot dissemble for treasure,  
But give every one just measure,  
If Bakers kept size like us,  
They need not be frighted thus,  
We fear not to have our doings scanned,  
For we are still on the mending hand.   

What ever we do intend  
We bring to a perfect end.  
If any offence be past,  
We make all well at last,  
We sit at work when others stand,  
And still we are on the mending hand.   

We bristle as well as the best,  
All knavery we do detest,  
What we have promised  
we'll do unto a thread,  
We use wax but to seal no Band,  
And still we are on the mending hand.   

Our wives do sit at the wheel,  
They spin, and we do reel,  
Although we take no Farms,  
Yet we can show our arms,  
And spread them at our own command.  
Thus still we are on the mending hand.    

The second Part.  
To the same Tune.  

Poor weatherbeaten Soles,  
Whose case the body condoles,  
We for a little gain  
Can set on foot again.  
We make the falling steadfast stand,  
And still we are on the mending hand.   

You'd think we were past sense,  
For we give pieces for pence,  
judge, is't not very strange  
We should make such exchange,  
Yet so we'll do at your command,  
And yet we'll be on the mending hand.   

Our hands do show that we  
Live not by taking a Fee,  
We pull a living forth  
Of things but little worth,  
Our work doth th'owners understand,  
Thus still we are on the mending hand.   

All day we merrily sing,  
And Customers do bring,  
Or unto us do send,  
Their Boots and Shoes to mend,  
We have our money at first demand,  
Thus still we are on the mending hand.   

When all our money is spent,  
We are not discontent,  
For we can work for more,  
And then pay off our score,  
We drink without either bill or band,  
Because we are still on the mending hand.   

While other Callings great,  
For fraud and foul deceit,  
Are looked unto by Law,  
We need not weight a straw,  
Our honesty spreads through the land,  
For we are still on the mending hand.   

Therefore let's be of good cheer,  
Though Leather be something dear,  
The Law some course will take  
Amends for all to make,  
And by their care we understand,  
the world is now on the mending hand,   

We pray for dirty weather,  
And money to pay for Leather,  
Which if we have, and health,  
A fig for worldly wealth,  
Till men upon their heads do stand,  
We shall be still on the mending hand.    
FINIS.  
M. F   

Printed at London for F. Grove.