Jovial Tom of all Trads,
OR, The Various Cries of London-City.
Ye Noble-Hearted Jolly Blades,
this truth of me you have;
Tho' TOM be of so many Trades,
he scorns to play the Knave.
To the Tune of, A Begging we will go.
This may be Printed R.P.
|
MY name is Tom of all Trades,
|
I range the Land about,
|
And have good store of trading,
|
let who's will go without:
|
And a trading I will go,
|
i'le go, i'le go,
|
And a trading I will go.
|
I am a Chimny-Sweeper,
|
as black as any Cole,
|
I call up Maids a mornings,
|
to sweep their smoaky hole:
|
And a trading, etc.
|
Sometimes I am a Tinker,
|
and on my Pans I rap,
|
Sometimes I am a Cooper,
|
to stop the Water-gap,
|
And a trading, etc.
|
I am a Coster-Monger,
|
and through the street I cry,
|
My curious fruit without dispute,
|
will make you Apple-pye:
|
And a trading I will go,
|
will go, will go,
|
And a trading I will go.
|
I am a brave Shoo-maker,
|
and one of Crispins crew,
|
And has within my Budget,
|
the bones of old Sir Hugh:
|
And a trading, etc.
|
I sell both Tape and Fillet,
|
with Codpiss, points, and pins,
|
With ends of Gold and silver,
|
maids sell your Coney-skins,
|
And a trading, etc.
|
Here's dainty Hamp-Shire Honey,
|
for why the case is thus,
|
I fain would take some money,
|
to fill my empty purse:
|
And a trading, etc.
|
Sometimes I am a Taylor,
|
a calling much in use,
|
Well furnished with Cabbidge,
|
besides a roasted Goose:
|
And a trading, etc.
|
Sometimes I am a Broom-man
|
old shooes, or boots, or hats,
|
But in the Winter Season,
|
i'le furnish you with Sprats:
|
And a trading, etc.
|
Old Brass I am for buying,
|
when profit I can find,
|
Sometimes I come still crying,
|
your knives and Sheers to grind,
|
And a trading, etc.
|
Sometimes I am a Mountebank,
|
and make a revel rout,
|
With plaisters for your Corns Sir,
|
and Pills to cure the gout:
|
And a trading, etc.
|
Sometimes I am a Sharper,
|
when other trading falls,
|
And then again a Barber,
|
see hear my washing-Balls,
|
And a trading, etc.
|
There's no one can be riper,
|
then I for these affairs,
|
Sometimes I am a Piper,
|
I play before the Bears:
|
And a trading, etc.
|
But yet for all those callings,
|
I am a Miller born,
|
And out of e'ry Bushel,
|
I pinch a peck of Corn,
|
And a trading, etc.
|
Farewel tis time in reason,
|
to bid you all adieu,
|
I'le find another season,
|
to come and visit you:
|
And a trading I will go,
|
i'le go, i'le go,
|
And a trading I will go.
|
|
|
|
|
|