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A Tankard of Ale |
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Then, Hostesse, go fetch us some, for till you do come,
We are of all joyes bereaven, You know what I mean, make haste come again,
For he that made ten made eleven. |
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With merry solaces, quite voyd of all malice,
With honest good fellows that's here, No cursing nor swearing, no staring nor tearing,
Amongst us do serve to appeare. When we have spent, all to labour we fall,
For a living we'll dig or we'll delve, Determined to be both bounteous and free,
He that made eleven made twelve. |
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Now I think it is fit and most requisite,
To drink a health to our wives, The which being done, we'll pay and be gone,
Strong drinke all our wits now deprives. Then, Hoptesse, let's know the summe that we owe,
Twelve pence there is for certain, Then t'other pot, and here's money for't,
For he that made twelve made thirteen. |
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34 |
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