40

WHEN the chill Charokoe blows,

And winter tells a heavy tale;

When pies and daws and rooks and crows Do sit and curse the frosts and snows— Then give me ale,

Old ale,

Stout brown,

Nut-brown,

O, give me stout brown ale!

Ale in a Saxon rumkin then,

Such as will make grim Malkin prate, Bids valour burgeon in tall men, Quickens the poet's wits and pen— Despises fate

Old brown,

Stout brown,

Nut-brown,

O, give me stout brown ale!

Ale, that the absent battle fights,

And forms the march of Swedish drums,

Disputes the Princes' laws and rights, What's past and done tells mortal wights And what's to come

Old brown,

Stout brown,

Nut-brown,

O, give me stout brown ale!

Ale that the ploughman's heart up keeps
And equals it to tyrants' thrones,
That wipes the eye that ever weeps,
And lulls in sweet and dainty sleeps
Th' o'erwearied bones-

Old brown,

Stout brown,
Nut-brown,

O, give me stout brown ale!

Grandchild of Ceres, Barley's daughter,

Wine's emulous neighbour-if but stale;
Ennobling all the nymphs of water,
And filling each man's heart with laughter,
O, give me ale—

Old brown,

Stout brown,

Nut-brown,

O, give me stout brown ale!

41

THE LEATHER BOTTEL

'Twas God above that made all things,
The heav'ns, the earth, and all therein;
The ships that on the sea do swim,
To guard from foes that none come in;
And let them all do what they can,
'Tis for one end-the use of man.

So I wish in heav'n his soul may dwell,
That first found out the leather bottel.

Now what do you say to these cans of wood?
Oh no, in faith they cannot be good;
For if the bearer fall by the way,

Why on the ground your liquor doth lay;
But had it been a leather bottel,

Although he had fallen, all had been well.
So I wish in heav'n, etc.

Then what do you say to these glasses fine?
Oh, they shall have no praise of mine,
For if you chance to touch the brim,
Down falls the liquor and all therein;
But had it been in a leather bottel,
And the stopple in, all had been well.
So I wish in heav'n, etc.

Then what do you say to these black pots three? If a man and his wife should not agree,

Why they'll tug and pull till their liquor doth spill:

In a leather bottel they may tug their fill,

And pull away till their hearts do ache,

And yet their liquor no harm can take.
So I wish in heav'n, etc.

Then what do you say to these flagons fine?
Oh, they shall have no praise of mine,
For when a lord is about to dine,

And sends them to be filled with wine,
The man with the flagon doth run away,
Because it is silver most gallant and gay.
So I wish in heav'n, etc.

E

A leather bottel we know is good,
Far better than glasses or cans of wood,
For when a man's at work in the field,
Your glasses and pots no comfort will yield;
But a good leather bottel standing by
Will raise his spirits whenever he's dry.
So I wish in heav'n, etc.

At noon the haymakers sit them down,
To drink from their bottels of ale nut-brown;
In summer too, when the weather is warm,
A good bottel full will do them no harm.
Then the lads and lasses begin to tattle,
But what would they do without this bottel ?
So I wish in heav'n, etc.

There's never a lord, an earl, or knight,
But in this bottel doth take delight;
For when he's hunting of the deer,

He oft doth wish for a bottel of beer.
Likewise the man that works in the wood,
A bottel of beer will oft do him good.
So I wish in heav'n, etc.

And when the bottel at last grows old,
And will good liquor no longer hold,
Out of the side you may make a clout
To mend your shoes when they're worn out;
Or take and hang it up on a pin,

'Twill serve to put hinges and odd things in. So I wish in heav'n his soul may dwell,

That first found out the leather bottel.

42

IN PRAISE OF THE BLACK JACK

Be your liquor small, or as thick as mud,
The cheating bottle cries good, good, good,
Whereat the master begins to storm,

'Cause he said more than he could perform. And I wish that his heirs may never want sack,

That first devised the bonny black Jack.

No tankard, flagon, bottle, nor jug
Are half so good, or so well can hold tug,
For when they are broke or full of cracks,
Then they must fly to the brave black Jacks.
And I wish, etc.

When the bottle and Jack stands together, O fie on't,

The bottle looks just like a dwarf to a giant; Then had we not reason Jacks to choose,

For this'll make boots, when the bottle mends shoes.

And I wish, etc.

And as for the bottle you never can fill it Without a tunnel, but you must spill it, 'Tis as hard to get in, as 'tis to get out: 'Tis not so with a Jack, for it runs like a spout, And I wish, etc.