A pleasant new Song of a jovial Tinker.  
To a pleasant new tune, called, Fly Brass.  

 

There was a jovial Tinker  
dwelled in the town of Thurbie,  
And he could mend a Kettle well,  
but his humours were but scurvy.  

Yet still would he cry,  
Tincke, tincke, tincke,  
Tara ra ring tincke, tincke,  
Room for a jolly drinker:  
He would stop one hole, and make two,  
was not this a jovial Tinker.    

He was as good a fellow  
as Smugge, which made much laughter:  
Full little would you think that in his drink,  
he would beat both his Wife and Daughter.  

Yet still would he cry,  
Tincke, tincke, tincke,  
Tara ra ring tincke, tincke,  
Room for a lusty drinker:  
He would stop one hole, and make two,  
was not this a jovial Tinker.    

He walked about the Country  
with Pikestaff and with Budget:  
Full little would ye what, when he was drunk as a Rat,  
how trimly he would trudge it.  

Yet still would he cry,  
Tincke, tincke, tincke,  
●●ra ra ring tincke, tincke,  
Rome for a lusty drinker:  
●e would stop one hole, and make two,  
was not this a jovial Tinker.    

There's none of his profession,  
was ere so skilled in Mettle:  
For he could mend your Frying-pan,  
your Skellet, and your Kettle.  

Yet still would he cry,  
Tincke, tincke, tincke,  
Tara ra tincke, tincke,  
Room for a lusty drinker:  
He would stop one hole and make two,  
was not this a jovial Tinker,    

he'd toss the jolly Tankard,  
the Blacke-pot, and the Pitcher:  
No Ale or Beer for him was dear,  
to make his Nose the richer.  
Yet still would he cry  

Tincke, tincke-&c.    

He walked to Fairs and Markets,  
to furnish his red Nose:  
And when he was drunk, would beat his Punk  
and make her pawn her clothes.  

Yet still would he cry,  
Tincke, tincke, etc.    

Who was it durst molest him:  
his Brass did him environ;  
sergeant arrest, yet he was blest,  
for he was bailed with Iron.  

Yet still would he cry,  
Tincke, tincke, tincke. etc.    
FINIS.   

The Second Part of the jovial Tinker.  
To the same tune.  
 
 

ANd now this jolly Tinker,  
the Country hath forsaken,  
And with his Pack upon his back,  
(to see what may be taken)  

In London he cries  
Tincke, tincke, tincke,  
Tara ra ring tincke, tincke:  
Room for a jolly drinker,  
He can stop one hole, and make two,  
is not this a jovial Tinker.    

But first about the City,  
this lusty man of Mettle,  
Doth cry and call to stop a hole,  
and Skellet, Pan, or Kettle.  

And still would he cry  
Tincke, tincke, tincke,  
Tara ra ring. etc.    

I'th' Strand I saw him tonking;  
when strait his eyes he raised,  
The new Exchange to him was strange,  
on which he stood and gazed.  

Then up he went,  
with tincke, etc.    

One questioned why he did so▪  
he said, to keep them waking,  
Lest they should sleep who shops did keep,  
they had so little taking.  

And then away, with  
Tincke, etc.    

And as he went down Fleetstreet,  
a Lawyer was offended,  
That he should cry so loud and high,  
to have old Kettles mended,  

Yet still would he cry,  
Tincke, tincke. etc.    

To him this Tinker thus replies,  
I do but ply my calling:  
And you (said he) some time (like me)  
will keep as bad a bawling.  

And still would he cry,  
Tincke, tincke. etc.    

And still this man of Thurbie,  
that in his trade was grounded:  
As he did pass from place to place,  
his Kettledrum he sounded.  

For still would he cry,  
Tincke, tincke. etc.    

In Cheapside then full lightly,  
he beat upon his Kettle:  
Where when the Gold he did behold,  
he wished it had been such mettle.  

And nimbly he cries  
Tincke, tincke. etc.    

Then meets he with the Sowgelder,  
the blows his Horn so finely,  
(That all about doth cry, Look out,)  
and him he greets full kindly.  

Together then, with  
Tincke, tincke, tincke,  
Tara ra ring tincke, tincke,  
What work here, cries the Tinker:  
The Sowgelder looked out, looked out,  
who was as sound a drinker.    

Then to an Alehouse hie they,  
their jovial humours keeping:  
Where tincke, tincke, tincke, fell hard to drink,  
and there I left him sleeping.  

And when he awaked,  
Tincke, tincke, tincke. etc.     
FINIS.   

Imprinted at London for I. Tr●●dle.