Merry TOM of all Trades.  

Or, A trick to get money at every dead lift,  
Made known by TOM of all trades that bravely could shift.  
From one place to another about he did range,  
And at his own pleasure his trade he could change.  
The tune is, Behold the man▪ &c.   

MY name is Tom of all trades  
there's many knows me well  
But no man needs examine me,  
to know where I do dwell,  
For why my common custom is  
to ramble up and down  
And I have left behind me▪  
full many a gallant Town.  
Then hay for Tom of all trades  
is all the peoples cry▪  
And Point their fingers at me.  
as I am passing by.   

Sometimes I am a tailor,  
and work well as I can,  
And if you'll take my own word for't  
I am an honest man.  
All those that are my Customers  
I use them all so well  
The third part of their cloth  
I throw it in to hell,  
Yet hay, etc,   

Sometimes I am a Glover  
and make perfumed gloves,  
Of every kind of Fashion  
 
All those that do deal with me,  
good peni worths shall have,  
You know that Tom of all tradas,  
doth seldom play the knave.  
Yet hay, &c.   

Sometimes I am a shoemaker.  
fine ware I make to sell,  
And I can fit a pretty wench  
and please her humours well.  
But if in drawing on her shoes  
my hand should chance to slip.  
I soon can make amends again,  
with smacking of her lips,  
But hay, &c.   

Sometimes I am a Weaver  
and let my shuttle fly.  
But if the alehouse catch me,  
Than woe be to the pie.  
And if I chance to l●yter  
but five days in the week,  
'tis ten to one on Sunday but  
my dinner is to seek.  
Yet hay for Tom of all trades  
is all the people's cry.  
〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 at me  
  

SOmetimes I am a Baker,  
wherein is no deceit,  
There's no man can accuse me  
for making too much weight:  
But for my Lord Mayors Officers  
I dare not come them nigh,  
For fear that they should pull my head  
into the Pillory.  
Then hay, &c.   

Sometimes I am a M●ller,  
my actions are so just,  
I never cozen any one,  
but them that do me trust.  
When I put in my Tole-dish,  
so honestly I deal.  
That out of one whole bushel of grist  
I but a peck do steal.  
Yet hay, &c.   

Sometimes I am a Blacksmith,  
and Vulcan is my name,  
But if my wife do horn me,  
there's no man can her blame.  
For if it be my Fortune  
a Cuckold for to die,  
There's others of my neighbours may  
Do so as well as I.  
Yet hay, etc,   

The brewer's trade I practice,  
sometimes the rest among,  
And I can make my Ale and beer  
both nappy stout and strong,  
But like to o●her Brewers  
I order can the matter,  
For if I put in too little malt,  
I put in the more water.  
Yet hay, &c.   

Sometimes I am a Shavor.  
and Barb well I can,  
And I can trim a Woman  
as well as any man,  
My Razor and my Washing-balls,  
make me so neat a Barber,  
That I can cut the hair so close  
a Louse can have no harbour,  
Yet hay, &c.   

Sometimes I keep an alehouse,  
the best trade of them all.  
For that will surely stand fast  
when other Trades do fall.  
I likewise keep two wenches brave,  
that can both kiss and spin,  
And they wi●l wait on Gentlemen  
and bring the profit in.  
Yet hay, etc,   

When all these Trades do fail me,  
the truth of all is so,  
unto Barbado●, Jamaica, or  
New-England will I go.  
Or to High Spaniola,  
among the Golden Ore,  
For there is room enough for me  
and forty thousand more.  
Then hay, &c.    

Printed for F. Coles. To Vere, and W. Gilber●son▪