Month: March 2016

Jolly Good Ale and Old

(A drynkinge song of much repute)

I cannot eat but little meat

My stomach is not good

But sure I think that I can Drink

With him that weareth an Hood.

Though I goe Bare, take you no care

For I am never cold

I stuff my skin so well within

With Jolly good Ale and old.

Back and sides goe bare, goe bare,

          Both hand and foot goe colde,

But belly, God send good Ale enough,

          Be it newe or old.

I love no roast but a nut-brown Toast

And a crab laid in the fyre,

A little bread should do me stead,

Much bread I never desire.

Nor Wind nor Snowe or Frost, I trow,

Can harm me if it would,

I am so wrapped, and thoroughly lappt,

With Jolly good Ale and old.

Back and sides goe bare, goe bare, &c.

I care right nought, I take no thought

For cloathes to keepe me warm,

Have I good Drink, I surely think

That none can do me harm.

For truly then, I feare no Man,

Though he be ne’er so bold,

When I am armed and thoroughly warmed

With Jolly good Ale and old.

Back and sides goe bare, goe bare, &c.

Now let them drink till they nod and wink,

E’en as good Fellowes doe,

They shall not miss to have the bliss

That Good Ale brings them to.

And all poor souls that scour black bowls,

Or have them lustily trolled,

God save the lives of them and their wives

Wether they be younge or old.

Back and sides goe bare, goe bare,

          Both hand and foot goe colde,

But belly, God send good Ale enough,

          Be it newe or old.

Soldiers Three

We be soldiers three,

Pardonnay moy je vouz ahn pree,

Lately come forth from the low country,

With never a penny of money.

Here, good fellow, I drink to thee,

Pardonnay moy je vouz ahn pree,

To all the good fellowes wherever they be,

With never a penny of money.

And he that will not pledge me this,

Pardonnay moy je vouz ahn pree,

Pays for the shot, whatever it is,

With never a penny of money.

Charge it again, boys, charge it again,

Pardonnay moy je vouz ahn pree,

As long as there is any ink in thy pen,

With never a penny of money.

We be soldiers three,

Pardonnay moy je vouz ahn pree,

Lately come forth from the low country,

With never a penny of money.

The Jovial Broome-Man

(The tale of a much-travelled man, and how he came to be laid low)

Room for a Lad that’s come from seas,

Hey, Jolly Broom-Man

That gladly now would take his ease,

And therefore make me room, man.

France, the Netherlands, and Spain,

Hey, Jolly Broom-Man,

I’ve crossed the seas and back again,

And therefore make me room, man.

Yet in these countries there liv’d I,

Hey, Jolly Broom-Man

And valiant soldiers I’ve seen die,

          And therefore make me room, man.

A hundred gallants there I kill’d,

          Hey, Jolly Broom-Man,

And besides, a world of blood I spill’d

And therefore make me room, man.

In Germanie I took a Towne,

          Hey, Jolly Broom-Man

And threw the walls there upside-down,

          And therefore make me room, man.

At Tilbury Camp with Captain Drake,

          Hey, Jolly Broom-Man,

I made the Spanish Fleet to quake

And therefore make me room, man.

At Holland’s Leaguer there I fought,

          Hey, Jolly Broom-Man

But there the service prov’d too hot,

          And therefore make me room, man.

Then from the League returned I,

          Hey, Jolly Broom-Man,

Naked, hungry, cold and dry,

And therefore make me room, man.

When I was drinking at the Cat’s Perch Inn,

          Hey, Jolly Broom-Man

I was set upon by Gardiner’s Men,

          And therefore make me room, man.

Then to make the matter worse,

          Hey, Jolly Broom-Man,

They threw me down and stole my purse

And therefore make me room, man.

Now have I compass’d the Globe,

          Hey, Jolly Broom-Man

And I’m return’d as poor as Job,

          And therefore make me room, man.

And now I’m safe returned here,

          Hey, Jolly Broom-Man,

Here’s to you with a cup of English beer,

And therefore make me room, man.

Of All the Birds That Ever I See

(Wherein the men do speak their mind, and the women, theirs.)

Of all the birds

That ever I see,

The owl is the fairest

In her degree.

For all the day long

She sits in a tree,

And when the night comes,

Away flies she.

          To whit, to woo,

          To whom drinks thou,

          Sir Knave, to thee.

          This song is well sung,

          And I make you a vow,

          That he is a knave

          That drinketh now.

          This song is well sung,

          And I make you a vow,

          That he is a knave

          That drinketh now.

          Nose, nose, nose, nose,

          And who gave thee

          That jolly red nose?

          Cinnamint and Ginger,

          Nutmeg and Cloves,

          And that gave thee

          Thy jolly red nose.

          Nose, nose, nose, nose,

          And who gave thee

          That jolly red nose?

         Cinnamint and Ginger,

          Nutmeg and Cloves,

          And that gave thee

          Thy jolly red nose.

(Verse the second, wherein the men do sing:)

I’ll not have a woman

Who’s never been tried,

But give me a wanton

To lie by my side.

And this I do use

As the rule of my life,

That wanton is best

Who’s another man’s wife.

          Nose, nose, &c.

(Verse the third, where the women do answer:)

You’ll not have us, sirs,

Although you may try,

But we do not deign

With drunkards to lie.

For Ale-Knights do claim

Our fields they will plow,

But they always deliver

Much less than they vow.

          Nose, nose, &c.