Be not frighted with our fashion,
Though we seem a tatter'd nation;
We account our rags our riches,
So our tricks exceed our stitches.

Give us bacon, rinds of walnuts,
Shells of cockles and of small nuts,
Ribands, bells, and saffron'd linen,
All the world is ours to win in.

Knacks we have that will delight you,
Sleights of hand that will invite you
To indure our tawny faces
And not cause you quit your places.

All your fortunes we can tell ye,
Be they for the back or belly,
In the moods too and the tenses
That may fit your fine five senses.

Draw but then your gloves, we pray you,
And sit still, we will not fray you.