Clout the Cauldron

Have you any pots or pans? Or any broken chandlers? I am tinkler to my trade. And newly come frae Fanders. As scant of silver as of grace, Disbanded we've a bad run; Gar tell the lady of the place, I'm come to clout her caldron, Fa adri, didle, didle, &c. Madam, if you have any wark for me I'll do't to your contentment, And dinna care a single flea, for any man's resentment; For lady fair tho' I appear To every one a tinker, Yet to yourself I'm bold to tell, I am a gentle jinker, Fa adri, didle, &c. Love Jupiter into a swan turn'd for his lovely Leda; He like a bull o'er meadows ran, to carry aff Europa: Then may not I as well as he, to hear your Argos blinker, And win your love like mighty Jove Thus hide me in a tinker? Fa adri, didle, &c. Sir you 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 tinker under tack, that used to clout my caldron, Fa adri, didle, &c.