Come let us prepare,
Jolly hearts ev'ry where,
Each shoemaker sing and be merry,
Let mirth now abound,
And bumpers go round,
Of Claret, Champaign, and Canary.
Blythe is our chose King,
Then blythly come sing,
Let faction be drove from our quarter,
May virtue inspire,
Is all we desire,
We envy no Knight of the Garter.
Our Royal Patron,
He wore the apron,
And was an extreme honest fellow,
Our craft is more great,
Without all debate,
Than many who more loudly bellow.
We still bear in mind,
And show to mankind,
Our loyalty by a procession,
To Crispin the great,
Who left kingly state,
And liv'd in a shoemaker's station.
Tyrannical vice,
In Royal disguise,
Did banish this Prince and his brother,
We received them fair,
We taught them with care,
And thus we became one another.
The kingdom we aid,
By shoemakers trade,
Of ladies we oft take the measure,
And Queens must submit,
To shew us their foot;
Yea Empresses do it with pleasure.
The King on the throne,
The Prince too his son,
Without our Craft's friendly assistance,
They bare-foot might go,
Thro' frost and thro' snow,
If shoemakers were at a distance.
Old Adam himsel',
Soon after he fell,
Did drive up his last into leather,
And made the first shoes,
To Eve his dear spouse;
Tho' clumsily tacked together.
Be that as it will,
'Tis certain our skill,
Could not very long be a wanting;
For boots, brogs, or shoes,
Were early in use,
Which saved mens feet when a-planting.
While misers are vex'd,
With riches perplex'd,
We whistle at work without sorrow;
We value no gain,
Which brings with it pain,
Nor trouble our tune with to-morrow.
Our very great care,
Is to pleasure the fair,
Whom shoemakers fit always neatly,
Our sweet-hearts and wives,
We love as our lives,
And by them are loved compleatly.
To sum up the whole,
Let us Crispin extol,
And be of his virtues partakers;
Then all will applaud,
And sing loud as Claud,
The fame and great worth of shoemakers.