Tom Tinker's My True Love

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Tom Tinker's my True Love

Tom Tinker's my true-love, and I am his dear,
And I will go with him, his budget to bear,
For of all the young men he has the best luck:
All the day he will fuddle, at night he will—

This way, that way, which way you will,
I am sure I say nothing that you can take ill!

With hammer on kettle he tabbers all day,
At night he will tumble on strummell or hay.
He calls me his jewel, his delicate duck:
And then he will take up my smicket to—

This way, that way, which way you will,
I am sure I say nothing that you can take ill!

There was an old woman, on crutches she came
To lusty Tom Tinker, Tom Tinker by name:
And though she was aged near three-score and five,
She kicked up her heels, and resolved to—

This way, that way, which way you will,
I am sure I say nothing that you can take ill!

A lady she called him her kettle to mend,
And she resolved herself to attend:
Now as he stood stooping and mending the brass,
His breeches was torn, and down hung his—

This way, that way, which way you will,
I am sure I say nothing that you can take ill!

He had such a trade that he turned me away,
Yet as I was going, he caused me to stay:
So as toward him I was going to pass,
He gave me a slap in the face with his—

This way, that way, which way you will,
I am sure I say nothing that you can take ill!

I thought in my heart he had struck off my nose!
I gave him as good as he bought, I suppose!
My words they were ready, and wonderful blunt:
Quoth I: I had rather been stobbed in my—

This way, that way, which way you will,
I am sure I say nothing that you can take ill!

This way, and that way, and which way you can,
For the fairest of women will lie with a man!
 

"Tom Tinker" is printed in the 1719 edition of Pills to Purge Melancholy, Vol 6, p. 205; and reprinted in John S. Farmer, Merry Songs and Ballads Prior to the Year A.D. 1800, Vol. I, pp. 171 ff.


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