“ Whatsoever ony man think,
We come for nought but for good drink.
Now let us go home and wink;
For it may be seen where we have been."
From the tavern be they all gone ;
And everich of hem showeth her wisdom,
And there she telleth her husband anon

She had been at the church.1
This is the thought that gossips take;
Once in the week merry will they make,
And all small drink they will forsake,
But wine of the best shall han no rest.
Some be at the tavern once in a week,
And so be some every day eke,
Or else they will groan and make them sick;
For things used will not be refused.
How say you, women, is it not so?
Yes surely, and that ye well know :
And therefore let us drink all a-row,
And of our singing make a good ending.
Now fill the cup, and drink to me,
And than shall we good fellows be :-
And of this talking leave will we,
And speak then good of women.

Back and side, go bare, go bare !

Both hand and foot, go cold !
But, belly, God send thee good ale enough,
Whether it be new or old !

But-if that I

May have truly
Good ale my bellyful,

I shall look like one,

By sweet Saint John,
Were shorn against the wool.

Thouth I go bare,

Take you no care,
I am nothing cold,

I stuff my skin

So full within

Of jolly good ale and old. 1 This neat touch comes from the second version of the poem. 2 The date of this chant may be somewhere towards 1540.

I cannot eat

But little meat,
My stomach is not good ;

But sure I think

That I could drink With him that wear'th an hood.

Drink is my life,

Although my wife Sometime do chide and scold :

Yet spare I not

To ply the pot
Of jolly good ale and old.
Back and side &c.

I love no roast,

But a brown toast, Or a crab in the fire;

A little bread

Shall do me stead, Much bread I never desire.

Nor frost nor sn

Nor wind, I trow, Can hurt me if it wold;

I am so wrapped

Within and lapped With jolly good ale and old Back and side &c.

I care right nought,

I take no thought For clothes to keep me warm :

Have I good drink,

I surely think Nothing can do me harm.

For truly than

I fear no man, Be he never so bold,

When I am armed

And throughly warmed With jolly good ale and old. Back and side &c.

But now and than

I curse and ban, They make their ale so small :

God give them care,

And evil to fare,-
They strye’ the malt and all !

Such peevish pew-
I tell you true-

1 Destroy, ruin, spoil.

Not for a crown of gold

There cometh one sip

Within my lip, Whether it be new or old, Back and side &c.

Good ale and strong

Mak'th me among Full jocund and full light,

That oft I sleep,

And take no keep, From morning until night.

Then start I up,

And flee to the cup; The right way on I hold

My thirst to staunch;

I fill my paunch
With jolly good ale and old.
Back and side &c. ,

And Kitt, my wife,

That as her life
Loveth well good ale to seek,

Full oft drinketh she,

That ye may see
The tears run down her cheek.

Then doth she troll

To me the bowl,
As a good malt-worm shold, -
say :

I have take my part
Of jolly good ale and old.”
Back and side &c.

They that do drink

Till they nod and wink, Even as good fellows should do,

They shall not miss

To have the bliss That good ale hath brought them to.

And all poor souls

That scour black bowls, And them hath lustily trolled,

God save the lives

Of them and their wives, Whether they be young or old ! Back and side &c.

AS IT BEFELL ONE SATURDAY.1 As it befell one Saturday at noor,

As I went up Scotland gate, 1 heard one to another say,

John a' Bagilie hath lost his mate." At Eaton Water I wash my hands

For tickling a tears I could scarce see: I lifted up my lily-white hands :

“O Katty Whitworth, God be with thee ! “There is none but you and I, sweetheart,

No lookers-on we can allow : Your lips they be so sugаred sweet

I must do more than kiss you now ! “Farewell, my love, my leave I take :

Though against my will, it must be so: No marvel all this moan I make :

Whom I love best I must forego ! If that thou wilt Scotland forsake,

And come into fair England with me, Both kith and kin I will forsake,

Bonny sweet wench, to go with thee." There was two men, they loved a lass :

The one of them he was a Scot, The other was an Englishman

The name of him I have quite forgot. As I went up Kelsall wood,

And up that bank that was so stair,3 I looked over my left shoulder,

Where I was wont to see my dear. “There is sixteen in thy father's house :

Fifteen of them against me be : Not one of them to take my part,

But only thou, pretty Kattye.” The young man walked home again,

As time of night thereto moves : The fair maid called him back again,

And gave to him a sweet pair of gloves.

1 This is a specimen of the compositions termed “Tom-a-Bedlams," common and popular towards the beginning of the seventeenth century. The fun of them consists in their perpetual incongruities or irrelevancies.

2 Probably a mis-writing for “trickling :” or the change may be intentional, 3 Steer, steep

“Thy father hath silver and gold enough,

Silver and gold to maintain thee; But as for that I do not care,

So that thou wilt my true love be." “When I was young and in my youth,

Then could I have lovers two or three : ; Now I am old, and count the hours,

And fain would do—but it will not be.”, “Upon your lips my leave I take,

Desiring you to be my friend, And grant me love for love again,

For why, my life is at an end. “My mother, Kate, hath sent for me,

And needly her I must obey. I weigh not of thy constancy

When I am fled and gone away. “I weep, I wail, I wring my hands,

I sob, I sigh, I make heavy cheer! No marvel all this moan I make,

For why, alas ! I have lost my dear !"

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