Her charms had struck a sturdy caird, [tinker]
As well as poor gut-scraper;
He taks the fiddler by the beard,
An' draws a roosty rapier-- [rusty]
He swoor, by a' was swearing worth,
To spit him like a pliver, [plover]
Unless he would from that time forth
Relinquish her for ever.

Wi' ghastly e'e, poor tweedle-dee
Upon his hunkers bended, [hams]
An' pray'd for grace wi' ruefu' face,
An' sae the quarrel ended.
But tho' his little heart did grieve
When round the tinkler prest her,
He feign'd to snirtle in his sleeve, [snigger]
When thus the caird address'd her:--

Air

TUNE: Clout the Cauldron

My bonnie lass, I work in brass,
A tinkler is my station;
I've travell'd round all Christian ground
In this my occupation;
I've ta'en the gold, I've been enroll'd
In many a noble squadron;
But vain they search'd when off I march'd
To go an' clout the cauldron. [patch]