CLOUT THE CALDRON.

HAVE you any pots or pans,
Or any broken chandlers?
I am a tinkler to my trade,
And newly come frae Flanders:
As fcant of filler as of

grace,

Disbanded, we 've a bad run; Gae 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 flea

For any man's refentment:

For, lady fair, tho' I appear
To every ane a tinkler,
Yet to yourfell 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 ran

To carry off Europa:

Then

Then may not I as well as he,
To cheat 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.

THE MALTMAN.

THE maltman comes on Monday,
He craves wonder fair,

Cries, Dame, come gi'e me my filler,

Or malt fall ne'er
ye

get mair.

I took him into the pantry,

And gave him fome good cock-broo,
Syne paid him upon a gantree,

As hoftler wives fhould do.

When

When maltmen come for filler,

And gaugers with wands o'er foon, Wives, tak them a' down to the cellar, And clear them as I have done. This bewith, when cunzie is fcanty, Will keep them frae making din, The knack I learn'd frae an auld aunty, The fnackest of a' my kin.

The maltman is right cunning,
But I can be as flee,

And he may crack of his winning,

When he clears fcores with me: For come when he likes, I'm ready; But if frae hame I be,

Let him wait on our kind lady,

She 'll answer a bill for me.

BONNY BESSY.

BESSY's beauties fhine fae bright,
Were her many virtues fewer,
She wad ever give delight,

And in transport make me view her.
Bonny Beffy, thee alane

Love I, naithing else about thee; With thy comeliness I'm tane,

And langer cannot live without thee.

Beffy's bofom 's saft and warm,
Milk-white fingers still employ'd;

He who takes her to his arm,

Of her sweets can ne'er be cloy'd.

My dear Beffy, when the roses

Leave thy cheek, as thou grows aulder,

Virtue, which thy mind discloses,

Will keep love frae growing caulder.

Beffy's tocher is but scanty,

Yet her face and foul discovers
These inchanting fweets in plenty
Muft entice a thousand lovers.

It's not money, but a woman
Of a temper kind and easy,
That gives happiness uncommon;
Petted things can nought but teez ye.

THE QUADRUPLE ALLIANCE.

SWIFT, Sandy, Young, and Gay,
Are still my heart's delight,
I fing their fangs by day,

And read their tales at night.
If frae their books I be,
'Tis dullness then with me;

But when these stars appear,

Jokes, fmiles, and wit fhine clear.

Swift, with uncommon stile,

And wit that flows with ease,
Inftructs us with a smile,
And never fails to please.
Bright Sandy greatly fings
Of heroes, gods, and kings:
He well deferves the bays,
And ev'ry Briton's praise.

While thus our Homer fhines;
Young, with Horacian flame,
Corrects these false designs

We push in love of fame.

Blyth