Which by his wisdom and his power,

He wifely did prevent,

And both the combatants at once
In wooden durance pent.

The manner how these two fell out,
And quarrell'd in their ale,
I fhall attempt at large to fhow
In the fucceeding tale.

A ftrolling cobbler who was wont
To trudge from town to town,
Happen'd upon his walk to meet
A vicar in his gown.

And as they forward jogg'd alone,
The vicar growing hot,
First afk'd the cobbler if he knew
Where they might take a pot.

Yes, marry, that I do, quoth he,
Here is a houfe hard by,
That far exceeds all Bedfordshire,
For ale and landlady.

Thither let's go, the vicar faid;
And when they thither came,
He lik'd the liquor wondrous well,
But, better far the dame.

And she who like a cunning jilt
Knew how to please her guest,
Us'd all her little tricks and arts
To entertain the priest.

The cobbler too, who quickly faw
The landlady's defign,

Did all that in his power was
To manage the divine..

With

With fmutty jefts, and merry fongs

They charm'd the vicar fo, That he determin'd for that night No farther he would go.

And being fix'd, the cobbler thought

'Twas proper to go try,
If he cou'd get a jobb or two,
His charges to fupply.

So going out into the street,
He bauls with all his might,
If any of you tread awry,
I'm here to fet you right.

I can repair your leaky boots,
And underlay your foles,
Backfliders I can underprop,
And patch up all your holes.

The vicar who unluckily

The cobbler's outcry heard,

From off the bench on which he fat,

With mighty fury rear'd.

Quoth he, what prieft, what holy priest,

Can hear this bawling flave?

But muft in justice to his coat

Chastize the faucy knave.

What has this wretch to do with fouls,
Or with backsliders either;

Whose business only is his awls,
His lafts, his thread, and leather.

I lose my patience to be made
This ftrolling varlet's fport;

Nor could I think this fawcy rogue
Would treat me in fuch fort.

The

The cobbler, who had no defign
The vicar to displease;
Unluckily repeats again,

I'm come your foles to ease.

The inward and the outward too
I can repair and mend;
And all that my affistance want,
I'll use them like a friend.

The country folk no fooner heard
The honeft cobbler's tongue,
But from the village far and near
They round about him throng.

Some brought their boots, and fome their fhoes,
And fome their buskins bring;
The cobbler fits him down to work,

And then begins to fing.

Death often at the cobbler's ftall

Was wont to make a ftand; But found the cobbler finging ftill, And on the mending hand.

Until at length he met old time,
And then they both together
Quite tear the cobbler's aged fole
From off the upper leather;

Even fo a while, I may old fhoes,
By care and art maintain;
But when the leather's rotten grown,
All art and care is vain.

And thus the cobbler stitch'd and fung,
Not thinking any harm ;

Till out the angry vicar came,
With ale and paffion warm.

Doft

Doft thou not know, vile flave, quoth he,
How impious 'tis to jeft

With facred things, and to profane
The office of a priest.

How darft thou, most audacious wretch!
Those vile expreffions use,

Which make the fouls of men as cheap
As foles of boots and shoes.

Such reprobates as you betray,
Our character and gown;
And would if you had once the pow'r
The church itself pull down.

The cobbler not aware that he
Had done or faid amifs;
Reply'd, I do not understand
What you can mean by this.

Tho' I but a poor cobbler be,
And ftroll about for bread;
None better loves the church than I
That ever wore a head.

But fince you are so good at names,
And make so loud a pother;
I'll tell you plainly I'm afraid,
You are fome cobbling brother.

Come, vicar, tho' you talk fo big,
Our trades are near a-kin;
I patch and cobble outward foles,
As you do thofe within.

And I'll appeal to any man,

That understands the nation,

If I ha'nt done more good than you,
In my respective station..

Old

Old leather, I muft needs confefs,
I've fometimes us'd for new;
And often par'd the fole fo near,
That I have spoil'd the shoe.

You vicars by a diff'rent way,
Have done the very fame;
For you have par'd your doctrines fo,
You made religion lame.

Your principles you 've quite difown'd,
And old ones chang'd for new?
That no man can distinguish right,
Which are the falfe or true.

I dare be bold, you're one of those
Have took the covenant;
With cavaliers, are cavalier;
And with the faints, a faint.

The vicar at this sharp rebuke,
Begins to ftorm and swear;
Quoth he, thou vile apoftate wretch!
Doft thou with me compare.

I that have care of many fouls,
And power to damn or fave,
Dar'ft thou thy felf compare with me,
Thou vile ungodly knave!

I wish I had thee fome where else,
I'd quickly make thee know;
What 'tis to make comparisons,
And to revile me fo.

Thou art an enemy to the state,
Some priest in masquerade;

That to promote the pope's defigns,
Has learnt the cobbling trade.

Or