Page:Irish wedding (2).pdf/5



’Tis a hard matter for a child to know its own father, besides, my mother was a Queen: Oh! yes she was Queen of the Gypsies, and perhaps I was born a Prince! though now, like other tinkers, I mend a hole and make twa, with my

{{block center| }Tan ran tan, tan ran tan, tan, For pot or cann, oh! I’m your man.


 * Once I in budget, snug had got

A barn-door capon, and what not, Here’s pots to mend! I cried along, Here’s pots to mend! was still my song At village wakeoh! curse his throat, The cock crow’d out so loud a note. The folk in clusters flock’d around, They seiz’d my budget, in it found The cock, a gammon, pease and beans, Besides a jolly tinker (yes by the L--d) a tinker's ways and means. }}

Oh! they took my all, left me nothing but my paternal estate, which consisted of my

Tan ran tan, tan ran tan tan, etc.