With bellies like a tunn,

Mull'd sacke shall end all quarrels.

The drunke Fencer.

Next Swash appears, who stormes and sweares, If that they bring not better wine,

The potts he'll maule against the wall,

He'll beate my host and breake his signe.
The Ape drunkard.

Another drunkard skipps,

Whose head is like a feather,

He'll show as many trickes

As your ape (and) baboone together.
The drunke Fidler.

The Fidler's croud now squeakes aloud,
His fidlinge stringes begin to trole;
He loves a wake and a wedding-cake,
A bride-house and a brave may-pole.
The drunke Tinker.

Next the roringe Tinker,

As furious as a dragon;
He swears he'll be no flincher,

His carowse is but a flagon;

Hee loves his punke, but when he's drunke, His muddy braynes well mull'd with liquor,

He then will rore and call hir whore,

And out of doores hee sweares he'll kicke her.

The weeping drunk.

Armed all with claret,

The weeping drunkard next,

Hee's very sorry for it,

His soule is sore perplext.

These are the crew of drunkards trew,

That do belong to Bacchus' court; Soon see you shall their humors all,

Yf you marke awhile theire drunken sporte.

Bacchus at thy call,

They here come marching roundly,

That will not flinch at all,

But take their liquor soundly;

They'll do their parts, they'll drinke whole quarts, A pint with them is but a swallow;

They'll nere give ore till the welkin rore,

The house runn round, and the sky looke yellow.

XXXVIII.

(From Aristippus, by J. Randolph, about 1630.)

WE care not for money, riches, or wealth,
Old sack is our money, old sack is our health.

Then let's flock hither,

Like birds of a feather,

To drink, to fling,

To laugh and sing,

Conferring our notes together,

Conferring our notes together.

Come let us laugh, let us drink, let us sing,
The Winter with us is as good as the Spring.
We care not a feather

For winde, or for weather,

But night and day

We sport and play,

Conferring our notes together,
Conferring our notes together.

XXXIX.

(From the Sun's Darling, by Ford, act iv, sc. 1.)

FOLLY SINGS.

CAST away care! he that loves sorrow
Lengthens not a day, nor can buy to-morrow;
Money is trash; and he that will spend it,
Let him drink merrily, fortune will send it.
Merrily, merrily, merrily, oh, ho!

Play it off stifly; we may not part so.

Chor. Merrily &c.

Wine is a charm, it heats the blood too,

[They drink.

Cowards it will arm, if the wine be good too,
Quickens the wit, and makes the back able,

Scorns to submit to the watch or constable,

Merrily, &c.

E

Pots fly about, give us more liquor,

Brothers of a rout, our brains will flow quicker;
Empty the cask; score up, we care not;
Fill all the pots again, drink on and spare not.
Merrily, &c.

XL.

SACK FOR MY MONEY.

The tune is "Wet and Weary."

(From Collier's Roxburghe Ballads, 177-182. Said to be probably of the time of James the First. Roxburghe Ballads, British Museum, ii, 408-9.)

GOOD fellows all, both great and small,

Rejoice at this my ditty;

Whilst I do sing, good newes I bring
To the countrey and the city :
Let every lad and lass be glad,

(For who will true love smother?)
And being here, my joy and dear,
We'l kindly kiss each other.
The purest wine, so brisk and fine,
The alligant and sherry,

I hold it good to purge the blood,
And make the senses merry.

'Tis sparkling sack that binds the back,
And cherishes the heart, boys,

For recompence just eighteen-pence
You must give for a quart, boys:
Away with beer and such like geer,
That makes our spirits muddy,
For wine compleat will do the feat
That we all notes can study.
The purest wine, &c.

Rich malligo, is pure, I know,
To purge out melancholly,
And he that's sick it cureth quick,
And makes their senses jolly:

It rarefies the dullest eyes

Of those that are most paler, And bravely can compose a man Of a very prick-lows taylor. The richest wine, &c.

The meerest fool shall teach a school,

By claret's operation,

And make some fight, like men of might,

Or champions of a nation :

It is more fine then brandewine,

The butterboxes potion,

Who drinking dares, in Neptune's wars,

Reign master of the ocean.

Canary sack makes firm the back;

Both alligant and sherry,

Are proved good to clear the blood,

And make the senses merry.