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A Tankard of Ale |
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The Smith went abroad, at length he came home,
And found his maid and man in a room,
Both drinking together foot to foot.
To speak to them he thought was no boot:
For they were both drunk and could not reply,
To make an excuse as big as a lye.
But quoth the good wife, sweet hart do not rayl,
These things must be if we sell Ale.
He came home again and there he did see His wife kindly sitting on a man's knee, And though he said little, yet thought he the more, And who can blame the poor Wittall therefor. He hug'd her and kist her though Vulcan stood by, Which made him to grumble, and look all awry. But quoth the good wife, sweet hart do not rayl, These things must be if we sell Ale.
A Sort of Saylers were drinking one night, And when they were drunk began for to fight, The Smith came to part them, as some do report. For his good will was beat in such sort That he could not lift his arms to his head, Nor yet very hardly creep up to his bed. But quoth the good wife, sweet hart do not rayl, These things must be if we sell Ale.
• •••••
A flock of good fellows, all Smiths by their trade, Within a while after a holiday made, Unto the Smith's house they came then with speed, And there they were wondrous merry indeed,
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