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A Tankard of Ale
I cannot eat but little meat, My stomach is not good; But sure I think that I can drink
With him that wears a hood. Though I go bare, take ye no care,
I nothing am a-cold. I stuff my skin so full within Of jolly good ale and old.
Back and side go bare, go bare !
Both foot and hand grow cold ; But belly, God send thee good ale enough, Whether it be new or old.
I have no roast but a nut-brown toast,
And a crab laid in the fire ; A little bread shall do me stead.
Much bread I do not desire. No frost nor snow, nor wind I trow,
Can hurt me if I wold ; I am so wrapped, and thoroughly lapped,
Of jolly good ale and old.
Back and side go bare, etc.
And Tib my wife, that as her life
Loveth well good ale to seek, Full oft drinks she, till ye may see
The tears run down her cheek ; Then doth she trowl to me the bowl,
Even as a maltworm should, And saith, Sweetheart, I took my part
Of this jolly good ale and old. Back and side go bare, etc.
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