A soldier and a sailor,

A tinker and a tailor,

Had once a doubtful strife, sir,

To make a maid a wife, sir,

Whose name was buxom Joan.

For now the time was ended,

When she no more intended

To lick her lips at men, sir,

And gnaw the sheets in vain, sir,

And lie o’ nights alone.

The soldier swore like thunder,

He loved her more than plunder,

And shewed her many a scar, sir,

That he had brought from far, sir,

With fighting for her sake.

The tailor thought to please her

With offering her his measure.

The tinker, too, with mettle

Said he could mend her kettle,

And stop up ev’ry leak.

But while these three were prating,

The sailor slyly waiting,

Thought if it came about, sir,

That they should all fall out, sir,

He then might play his part.

And just e’en as he meant, sir,

To loggerheads they went, sir,

And then he let fly at her

A shot ’twixt wind and water,

That won this fair maid’s heart.