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A Tankard of Ale |
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But choose out a fairer and kinder than she, And banish despair in a mug, a mug !
From thee such pleasant joys, liquor, does flow, Which cures the distemper of heart and mind ;
Our wits, O, then more riper do grow, By perfect experience the same we find.
Then he is an ass that seems to despair At any coy frown of the wanton pug ;
Be merry and jolly, and drown all thy care For ever and aye in a mug, a mug!
As for the liquor, the juice of the grape Which often does into men's noddles creep,
And sometimes it makes them as wise as an ape, And sometimes it lays, like stocks, to sleep.
But whilst we are more sober and civil than they, Like brothers together in friendship hug,
And ever account it our duty to pay A worthy respect to the mug, the mug !
As for the spirit and juice of malt, It ripens the fancy of men enough,
And he is an ass that pretends to find fault With English because of their potent talk.
There's nothing more choice in all our land, To make a young gallant both brisk and smug,
And therefore no longer disputing we'll stand, But ever admire the mug, the mug !
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