[Tea-Table Miscellany Contents]
HAve you any pots or pans,
Or any broken chandlers?
I am a tinkler to my trade,
And newly come frae Flanders,
As scant of siller as of grace,
Disbanded, we’ve a bad-run;
Gar tell the lady of the place,
I’m come to clout her caldron.
Fa adrie, didle, didle, &c.
–
Madam, if you have wark for me,
I’ll do’t to your contentment,
And dinna care a single flie
For any man’s resentment;
For lady fair, tho’ I appear
To every ane a tinkler,
Yet to your sell I’m bauld to tell,
I am a gentle jinker.
Fa adrie, didle, didle, &c.
–
Love Jupiter into a swan
Turn’d, for his lovely Leda;
He like a bull o’er meadows run,
To carry aff Europa.
Then may not I, as well as he,
To chear your Argos blinker,
And win your love like mighty Jove,
Thus hide me in a tinkler.
Fa adrie, didle, didle, &c.
–
Sir, ye appear a cunning man,
But this fine plot you’ll fail in,
For there is neither pot nor pan
Of mine you’ll drive a nail in.
Then bind your budget on your back,
And nails up in your apron,
For I’ve a tinkler under tack
That’s us’d to clout my caldron.
Fa adrie, didle, didle, &c.
