A jolly Company of jovial Blades, Who laugh and sing, and are as merry as the Maids. They sing and roar, and freely spend their Chink, And to each other in full Bowles they drink: They scorn such puny p[i]nch-guts as are saving, They think good Sack is only worth the having. And being fully bent to spend their store, They drink their Liquor off and call for more. Thus while they freely tope off Sack by quarts, They drive away all sorrow from their hearts. Tune is, General Monk hath advand himself since he came from the Tower.
|
IT was of late, my happy fate
|
to meet with a Joviall Crew;
|
Of merry Blades, and lively Lads,
|
who drank till the Sky look blew.
|
Being void of care, no money they spare
|
but all with free conesnt,
|
Drink wine good store & then caled for mor
|
so merrily they were bent.
|
Hang sorrow quoth one, why should we make moan,
|
so long as our mony doth last?
|
Away with this sadness, tis folly & madnes,
|
to think what is past.
|
Lets drink and bouze, and bravely carooze,
|
and least that the time should seem long
|
Give eare unto me, my task it shall be,
|
to sing you a gallant new Song.
|
|
|
|
|
The second Part to the same Tune.
|
BE merry my hearts, & call for your quarts
|
and let no Liquor be lacking,
|
We have mony good store, & intend for to rore,
|
untill we have set all a packing.
|
Come Drawer make haste, let not the time waste
|
let every man have his due,
|
For to save shooes & trouble bring in a quart double
|
for he that made one made two.
|
Come take off your drink, & speak what you think,
|
strong liquor will make you speak truly
|
For certainly we, no Drunkards can be,
|
so long as we are not unruly,
|
Then drink and be civil, intending no evil
|
and be not offended with me,
|
For what I had before, Ile have one quart more
|
for he that made two, made three.
|
The greedy Curmudgin, sits all thee day grudging,
|
at home with his bread and smal beer,
|
For to hord up base pelf, he starves himself.
|
scarse eats a good meal through the year
|
But wel not do so, how e[r]e the world go,
|
so long as we have any store,
|
I think wel not lack, go fill us more Sack,
|
for he that made three made four.
|
Why sit you so sadly, since I call so madly,
|
I scorn to leave you in the lurch,
|
The reckoning ile pay ere I go away,
|
else hang me as high as the Church
|
Yet some men will say, that is not the way
|
he must p[?]nch that intends for to thrive,
|
Tis no matter for that, lets laugh & be fat,
|
for he that made four, made five.
|
Such love I intend to my dearest friend
|
that I can not tell how to expresse it:
|
when with him I meet, his companys so sweet
|
that I would not willingly miss it
|
I scorn such a slave, as his money will save sweet
|
or any that use such base tricks.
|
Come on my brave blades, be as merry as thee Maids
|
for he that made five made six.
|
Now whilst I am here, ile call for my Beer
|
and freely my money ile spend,
|
Let no man take care, for paying his share,
|
if need be, ile pay for my friend.
|
Pluck up a good heart, let sorrow depart,
|
with the Drawer I will make even,
|
So with merry content, our time shall be spent,
|
for he that made six, made seaven.
|
Drink off our cups round, let sorrow be drownd
|
in this same cup of good Sherry,
|
I cannot indure, to sit thus demure,
|
for hither we came to be merry.
|
Then be of good cheer, thee reckning ile clear
|
and eke with the Drawer make straight,
|
For now Im set a mading, I needs must be adding
|
& he that made seven, made eight:
|
Yet at home I confesse, with my honest Besse
|
I practice good husbandry well,
|
To maintain my calling, & keep me from falling,
|
as all my Neighbours can tell;
|
they plead me at large for maintaining my charge
|
though sometimes to drink I incline:
|
Yet I scorn for to shrink go fill us more drink
|
for he that made eight made nine.
|
Heres a health to my friend, thee hath a Song pend
|
in prais of good liqor thats old,
|
Drink off your cups round, whilst Musick doth sound
|
in hope it will keep us from cold,
|
And now to conclude my verses so rude,
|
you are all welcome Gentlemen:
|
Yet ere you depart, ile give a quart,
|
for he that made nine, made ten.
|
This being said, the reckoning they paid,
|
and in friendly manner departed:
|
theres none of them had any cause to be sad
|
but all went away merry-hearted.
|
And when they do meet, again in the street;
|
then unto the Tavern thyl hye:
|
And there they intend their money to spend
|
which no body can deny
|
|
|
|
|