hen thou
Hast laid the Evil Spirit.

_Harlot._ I vow I won't, indeed I shan't,
Unless I've Money first, Sir;
For if I ever trust a Saint,
I wish I may be curst, Sir.

_Quaker._ I cannot like the Wicked say,
I Love thee and Adore thee,
And therefore thou wilt make me pay,
So here is Six pence for thee.

_Harlot._ Confound you for a stingy WHIG,
Do ye think I live by Stealing;
Farewel you Puritannick Prig,
I scorn to take your Shilling.

_A_ SONG. _Tune of the_ Old Rigadoon:

_Lais_ when you
Lye wrapp'd in Charms,
In your Spouses Arms,
How can you deny,
The Youth to try,
What is his due.

Sure you ne'er have
Been touch'd by Man,
That you ne'er can,
Admit the Slave.

Come let him in,
And if he does
Not pay what he owes,
Ne'er trust the Fool again.

Let another Spark supply his Place,
For a Woman should not want;
And Nature sure ne'er made a Man so base,
But with asking he would grant:
But if all Mankind were agreed to spoil your Race,
By _Jove_ my Dear they shan't.

_The travelling_ TINKER, _and the Country_ ALE-WIFE: _Or, the lucky
Mending of the leaky_ COPPER.

[Music]

A Comely Dame of _Islington_,
Had got a leaky Copper;
The Hole that let the Liquor run,
Was wanting of a Stopper:
A Jolly _Tinker_ undertook,
And promised her most fairly;
With a thump thump thump, and knick knack knock,
To do her Business rarely.

He turn'd the Vessel to the Ground,
Says he a good old Copper;
But well may't Leak, for I have found
A Hole in't that's a whopper:
But never doubt a _Tinkers_ stroke,
Altho' he's black and surly,
With a thump thump thump, _&c._
He'll do your Business purely.

The Man of Mettle open'd wide,
His Budget's mouth to please her,
Says he this Tool we oft employ'd,
About such Jobbs as these are:
With that the Jolly _Tinker_ took,
A Stroke or two most kindly;
With a thump thump thump, _&c._
He did her Business finely.

As soon as Crock had done the Feat,
He cry'd 'tis very hot ho;
This thrifty Labour makes me Sweat,
Here, gi's a cooling Pot ho:
Says she bestow the o