And Tib, my wife, that as her life
Loveth well good ale to seek,
Full oft drinks she, till you may see
The tears run down her cheek;
Then doth she troul to me the bowl,
Even as a maltworm should,
And saith "Sweetheart, I take my part
Of this jolly good ale and old."
Back and side go bare, go bare,
Both foot and hand go cold;
But, belly, GOD send thee good ale enough,
Whether it be new or old.
Now let them drink till they nod and wink,
Even as good fellows should do;
They shall not miss to have the bliss
Good ale doth bring men to;
And all poor souls that have scoured bowls,
Or have them lustily troul'd,
GOD save the lives of them and their wives,
Whether they be young or old.
Back and side go bare, go bare,
Both foot and hand go cold;
But, belly, GoD send thee good ale enough,
Whether it be new or old.
The Comedy of "Gammer Gurton's Needle," in which this song appears, was first acted in 1566, but not printed until 1575. "It is believed to have been," says Mr. Ellis, in his "Specimens of Ancient English Poetry," "the earliest English drama that exhibited any approaches to regular comedy."
COME, THOU MONARCH OF THE VINE.
From "Antony and Cleopatra," by WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE.
COME, thou monarch of the vine,
Plumpy Bacchus with pink eyne,
In thy vats our cares be drowned,
With thy grapes our hairs be crowned
Cup us till the world go round.
THE thirsty earth drinks up the rain
And thirsts, and gapes for drink again;
The plants suck in the earth, and are
With constant drinking fresh and fair.
The sea itself (which one would think
Should have but little need of drink)
Drinks twice ten thousand rivers up,
So fill'd that they o'erflow the cup.
The busy sun (and one would guess
By's drunken fiery face no less)
Drinks up the sea, and when he's done,
The moon and stars drink up the sun.
They drink and dance by their own light,
They drink and revel all the night:
Nothing in nature's sober found,
But an eternal health goes round.
Fill up the bowl then, fill it high,
Fill all the glasses here; for why
Should every creature drink but I?
Why, man of morals, tell me why!
Freely translated from Anacreon.
THE LEATHER BOTTÈL.
From "The Antidote to Melancholy," 1682.
"TWAS GOD above that made all things,
The heaven's, the earth, and all therein;
The ships that on the sea do swim,
To guard from foes, that none come in;
And let them all do what they can,
"Tis but for one end-the use of man.
So I wish in Heav'n his soul may dwell,
That first found out the leather bottèl.
Now what do you say to these cans of wood?
Oh no, in faith they cannot be good;
For if the bearer fall by the way,
Why on the ground his liquor doth lay:
But had it been in a leather bottel,
Although he had fallen all had been well.
So I wish in Heav'n his soul may dwell
That first found out the leather bottèl.
Then what do you say to these glasses fine?
Oh, they shall have no praise of mine;
For if you chance to touch the brim,
Down falls the liquor and all therein;
But had it been in a leather bottèl,
And the stopple in, all had been well.
So I wish in Heav'n his soul may dwell
That first found out the leather bottèl.
Then what do you say to these black-pots three?
If a man and his wife should not agree,
Why they'll tug and pull till their liquor doth spill:
In a leather bottèl they may tug their fill,
And pull away till their hearts do ache,
And yet their liquor no harm can take.
So I wish in Heav'n his soul may dwell,
That first found out the leather bottèl.
Then what do you say to these flagons fine?
Oh, they shall have no praise of mine;
For when a lord is about to dine,
And sends them to be filled with wine,
The man with the flagon doth run away,
Because it is silver most gallant and gay.
So I wish in Heav'n his soul may dwell
That first found out the leather bottèl.
A leather bottèl we know is good
Far better than glasses or cans of wood,
For when a man's at work in the fleld,
Your glasses and pots no comfort will yield;
But a good leather bottel standing by,
Will raise his spirits, whenever he's dry.
So I wish in Heav'n his soul may dwell,
That first found out the leather bottèl.
At noon the haymakers sit them down,
To drink from their bottels of ale nut-brown;
In summer, too, when the weather is warm,
A good bottel full will do them no harm.
Then the lads and the lasses begin to tattle,
But what would they do without this bottel?
So I wish in heav'n his soul may dwell,
That first found out the leather bottèl.
There's never a Lord, an Earl, or Knight,
But in this bottel doth take delight;
For when he's hunting of the deer,
He oft doth wish for a bottel of beer.
Likewise the man that works in the wood,
A bottel of beer will oft do him good.
So I wish in heav'n his soul may dwell,
That first found out the leather bottèl.
And when the bottel at last grows old,
And will good liquor no longer hold,
Out of the side you may make a clout,
To mend your shoes when they're worn out;
Or take and hang it up on a pin,
"Twill serve to put hinges and odd things in.
So I wish in heav'n his soul may dwell,
That first found out the leather bottèl.
BEGONE, DULL CARE.
BEGONE, dull Care, I prythee begone from me,
Begone, dull Care, thou and I shall never agree;
Long time thou hast been tarrying here,
And fain thou wouldst me kill;
But i'faith, dull Care,
Thou never shalt have thy will.
Too much care will make a young man gray;
And too much care will turn an old man to clay.
My wife shall dance, and I will sing,
So merrily pass the day;
For I hold it still the wisest thing
To drive dull Care away.
This popular ditty is as old as the year 1687, when it first appeared in "Playford's Musical Companion."
DOWN AMONG THE DEAD MEN.
Temp. Queen Anne. Anonymous.
HERE'S a health to the Queen, and a lasting peace,
To faction an end, to wealth increase;
Come, let's drink it while we have breath,
For there's no drinking after death.
And he that will this health deny,
Down among the dead men let him lie.
Let charming beauty's health go round,
In whom celestial joys are found,
And may confusion still pursue
The senseless woman-hating crew,
And they that woman's health deny,
Down among the dead men let them lie.
|