Transcribed from the broadside image at http://bodley24.bodley.ox.ac.uk/cgi-bin/acwwweng/ballads/image.pl?ref=Firth+c.21(65)&id=19564.gif&seq=1&size=1
I modernized the spelling and punctuation somewhat.

THE TALLY-MAN

It is of a buxom tally-man who dwells in London Town,
And every day throughout the week, he always goes his rounds;
Last week he called on Mrs. Bounce, and began to show his airs,
So she wopped him with the rolling pin and kicked him down the stairs.

CHORUS: Little Billy out aloud does bawl, and so does Kit and Sam,
"Oh! Mother, mother, shut the door. Here comes the tally-man."

SPOKEN: --Good morning, Mrs. Bounce.
--Good morning, Mr. Cheatem. What is your pleasure this morning?
--Why, I hope you have got some money for me?
--Oh, indeed! My husband declares I shan't pay a farthing for them infernal blankets you sold me for 7s 6d. They are full of moth holes and not worth fourpence apiece.
--Then I shall summons you, Mrs. Bounce, so here goes.

It would make you laugh to see the women hide away complete
Whene'er they hear the tally-man is coming down the street.
Some run into a neighbour's house, so nimble, it appears,
While others in the coal-hole get all underneath the stairs.

SPOKEN: --Well, my little boy, is your mother at home?
--No, sir. My mother is just popped out.
--Where is she gone to?
--Why, to the gin shop, I suppose.
--Has she left any money for me?
--I don't think she has left any for anybody. But who are you, sir?
--Who am I? Why, I am the tally-man.
--Oh, if you are Mr. Cheatem, the tally-man, you had better cut your stick, for my father has wopped my mother with a broomstick for buying your rotten twopenny halfpenny calico, and mother says you are an infernal old rogue, and I would not like to stand in your shoes if father catches you.

There is scarce a street in London Town, let it be rich or poor,
But you will see a tally-man knocking at the door.
It is well known to any that has a grain of sense
That they will make you pay a crown for what is not worth eighteen pence.

SPOKEN: --Dear me, Mrs. Ginger, what a rumpus there is over the way at Mr. Nipper's! Do you know what it is all about?
--Why Mr. Nipper, you must know, has been summoned by Mr. Swindle, the tally-man, for £1 10s 11d for goods taken upon the tally my Mrs. Nipper. The two Miss Nippers had a new gown each, a fine pair of stockings, a bustle, some lace caps, and some furbelows.
--Well, I wondered! Do you know, Mrs. Ginger, how the devil the Nippers went so flashy?
--I thought they must have got their things upon the tally, or some other way, I could not tell how. But there it is, you see. Well, I gets nothing on the tally but a little tea, and that's all sloe leaves; but tally shops are the ruination of all persons, you may depend upon it, for I know very well in our street, that there is many a woman takes out a tremendous lot of things unknown to their husbands, who never find it out until they are summoned to pay a pound for articles not worth five shillings.

"Pray, Mrs. Ginger, are you at home?" bawls out the tally-man.
"No, Mr. Swindle, I'm not," she cries, "and you must understand
That, call when you will, my husband swears you shall not have a mag,
Since you've turned rogue. You took me in, for your things are all a gag."

SPOKEN: --Is your mother at home, my little girl?
--No, sir.
--Where is she?
--How should I know?
--Why, I saw her looking out of the window, and I saw her popping out of the door just now, and if I am not mistaken, she is gone to her uncle's to spout a shawl for a shilling that she got upon the tally for 18s 6d. Is your father at home?
--No, my father's gone a-hopping and he wanted to get a donkey on the tally, but mother could not tell where to find the tally-man.
--Oh, he did, did he?
--Yes, he did indeed.
--Where is your sister?
--In her skin, I suppose.
--Well, my girl, you are a keen lass.
--Ah, so mother says: half as keen as a tally-man, but not so big a rogue; and I can assure you, that somebody in a family need be a little sharp; for if every one was so silly as my mother, we should be hunted to death by tally-men, who would sell you their rubbish and expect eleven-pence half-penny profit out of a shilling.

Every day throughout the week, so visit rich and poor,
You may behold the tally-man a-creeping near the door.
The children will bawl out aloud, "Mr. Tally-man, I say,
Mother is in the station house, and father is run away."