The merry Hoastess:
OR,
A pretty new Ditty, composd by an Hoastess that lives in the City:
To wrong such an Hoastess it were a great pitty,
By reason she caused this pretty new Ditty.
To the Tune of, Buff Coat has no Fellow.
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COme all that loves good company,
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and hearken to my Ditty;
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Tis of a lovely Hoastess fine,
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that lives in London City:
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Which sells good Ale, nappy and stale,
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and alwayes thus sings she,
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My Ale was tunnd when I was young,
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and a little above my knee.
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Her Ale is lively strong and stout,
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if you please but to taste;
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It is well brewd you need not fear,
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but I pray you make no waste:
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It is lovely brown, the best in Town,
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and alwayes thus sings she,
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My Ale was tunnd when I was young,
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and a little above my knee.
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The gayest Lady with her Fan,
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doth love such nappy Ale;
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Both City Maids, and Countrey Girles
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that carries the milking Pail:
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Will take a touch, and not think much,
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to sing so merrily,
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My Ale was tunnd when I was young,
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and a little above my knee.
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Both Lord and Esquire hath a desire
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unto it night and day;
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For a quart or two, be it old or new,
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and for it they will pay:
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With Pipe in hand they may her command
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to sing most merrily,
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My Ale was tunnd when I was young,
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and a little above my knee.
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Your welcome all brave Gentlemen,
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if you please to come in;
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To take a cup I do intend,
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and a health for to begin:
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To all the merry joval Blades,
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that will sing for company,
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My Ale was tunnd when I was young,
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and a little above my knee.
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Heres a Health to all brave English men
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that loves this cup of Ale;
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Let every man fill up his Can,
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and see that none do fail,
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Tis very good to nourish the blood,
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and make you sing with me,
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My Ale was tunnd when I was young,
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and a little above my knee.
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The second Part, to the same Tune.
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THe bonny Scot will lay a plot,
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to get a handsom tutch
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Of this my Ale so good and stale;
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so will the cunning Dutch:
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They will take a part with all their heart,
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to sing this tune with me,
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My Ale was tunnd when I was young,
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and a little above my knee.
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It will make the Irish cry a hone,
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If they but take their fill;
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And put them all quite out of tune,
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let them use their chiefest skill:
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So strong and stout it will hold out
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in any company:
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For my Ale was tunnd when I was young,
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and a little above my knee.
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The Welch-man on Saint Davids Day
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will cry, Cots Plutter a nail,
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Hur will hur ferry quite away,
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from off that nappy Ale:
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It makes hur foes with hur red Nose,
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hur seldom can agree.
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But my Ale was tunnd when I was young,
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and a little above my knee.
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The Spaniard stout will have about,
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cause he hath store of gold;
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Till at the last hs is laid fast,
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my Ale doth him so hold:
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His Ponyard strong is laid along,
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yet he is good company.
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For my Ale was tunnd when I was young,
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and a little above my knee.
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Theres never a Tradesman in England,
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that can my Ale deny;
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The Weaver, Taylor, and Glover,
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delights it for to buy:
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Small money they do take away,
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if that they drink with me.
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For my Ale was tunnd when I was young,
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and a little above my knee.
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There is Smug the honest Blacksmith,
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he seldom can pass by;
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Because a spark lies in his throat,
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which makes him very dry:
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But my old Ale tells him his tale,
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so finely we agree.
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For my Ale was tunnd when I was young,
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and a little above my knee.
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The Brewer, Baker, and Butcher,
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as well as all the rest,
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Both night and day will watch where they
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may finde Ale of the best:
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And the Gentle Craft will come full oft
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to drink a cup with me.
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For my Ale was tunnd when I was young,
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and a little above my knee.
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So to conclude, good Fellows all,
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I bid you all adieu;
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If that you love a cup of Ale,
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take rather old then new:
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For if you come where I do dwell,
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and chance to drink with me:
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My Ale was tunnd when I was young,
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and a little above my knee.
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