17

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:
Te-whit te-whoo! to whom drink'st thou?
Sir Knave to you.

This song is well sung I make you a vow,

And he is a knave that drinketh now:

Nose, nose, jolly red nose,

And who gave thee that jolly red nose?
Cinnamon, ginger, nutmegs, and cloves,
And that gave me my jolly red nose.

18

Now God be with old Simeon,
For he made cans for many an one;
And a good old man was he;
And Jinkin was his journeyman,
And he could tipple off every can,
And thus he said to me:

To whom drink you?
Sir Knave, to you.
Then hey ho, jolly Jinkin,
I spy a knave in drinking,
Come trowl the bowl to me.

19

TINKER'S SONG

HAVE you any work for the tinker, brisk maids,
Old brass, old pots or kettles?

I'll mend 'em all with a tink tery tink,
And never hurt your chattles.

First let me have a touch of your ale,
'Twill steel me 'gainst cold weather,
Or tinker's freeze, or vintner's lees,
Or tobacco, choose you whether.

But of your ale, your nappy ale,
I would I had a firkin,

For I am old and very, very cold,

And never wear a jerkin.

20

Toss the pot, toss the pot, let us be merry, And drink till our cheeks be as red as a cherry.

We take no thought, we have no care,

For still we spend and never spare,

Till of all money our purse is bare,
We ever toss the pot.

Chorus

Toss the pot, toss the pot, let us be merry, And drink till our cheeks be as red as a cherry.

We drink, carouse with heart most free,
A hearty draught I drink to thee:

Then fill the pot again to me,

And ever toss the pot.

And when our money is all spent,

Then sell our goods and spend our rent,

Or drink it up with one consent,

And ever toss the pot.

When all is gone, we have no more,
Then let us set it on the score,

Or chalk it up behind the door,
And ever toss the pot.

And when our credit is all lost,

Then may we go and kiss the post,

And eat brown bread instead of roast,
And ever toss the pot.

Let us conclude as we began,

And toss the pot from man to man,

And drink as much now as we can,
And ever toss the pot.

Chorus

Toss the pot, toss the pot, let us be merry, And drink till our cheeks be as red as a cherry.

21

WE be soldiers three,

Pardona moy ie vous an pree,

Lately come forth of the Low Country,
With never a penny of money.
Fa la la la lantido dilly.

Here, good fellow, I drink to thee,
Pardona moy ie vous an pree,
To all good fellows wherever they be,
With never a penny of money.

And he that will not pledge me this,
Pardona moy ie vous an pree,
Pays for the shot whatever it is,
With never a penny of money.

Charge it again, boy, charge it again, Pardona moy ie vous an pree,

As long as there is any ink in thy pen, With never a penny of money.

Fa la la la lantido dilly.

22

THE SOLDIER HAS NO FELLOW

SIT, soldiers, sit and sing, the round is clear, And cock-a-loodle-loo tells us the day is near: Each toss his can, until his throat be mellow, Drink, laugh and sing; the soldier has no fellow.

To thee a full pot, my little lanceprisado,

And when thou hast done, a pipe of Trinidado; Our glass of life runs wine, the vintner shrinks it, Whilst with his wife the frolic soldier drinks it.

The drums beat, ensigns wave, and cannons thump it;

Our game is ruff, and the best heart doth trump

it:

Each toss his can, until his throat be mellow, Drink, laugh and sing; the soldier has no fellow.

I'll pledge thee my corporal, were it a flagon ; After, watch fiercer than George did the dragon: What blood we lose i' the town we gain i' the

tuns;

Furr'd gowns and flat caps give the wall to guns:

Each toss his can, until his throat be mellow, Drink, laugh and sing; the soldier has no fellow.

JOHN FLETCHER (1579-1625).