Come, For[t]une's a Whore, I care not who tell her,
Would offer to strangle a Page of the Celler,
That should by his Oath to any Mans thinking,
And place, have had a defence for his drinking;
But thus she does still, when she pleases to palter,
Instead of his Wages, she gives him a Halter.
Three merry Boys, and three merry Boys, and three merry Boys are we,
As ever did sing in a hempen string under the Gallow-tree.
II.
But I that was so lusty,
And ever kept my Bottles,
That neither they were musty,
And seldome less than Pottles;
For me to be thus stopt now,
With Hemp instead of Cork, Sir,
And from the Gallows lopt now,
Shews that there is a fork, Sir,
In death, and this the token,
Man may be two ways killed,
Or like the Bottle, broken,
Or like the Wine, be spilled.
Three merry Boys, &c.
III.
Oh yet but look on the Master Cook, the glory of the Kitchin,
In sowing whose fate, at so lofty a rate, no Taylor e'r had stitching,
For though he makes the Man, the Cook yet makes the Dishes,
The which no Taylor can, wherein I have my wishes,
That I who at so many a Feast, have pleas'd so many tasters,
Should now my self come to be drest, a dish for you my Masters.
Three merry Boys, &c.
Cook. There's a few Copies for you; now farewel friends:
And good Mr. Sheriff let me not be printed
With a brass Pot on my head.
But. March fair, march fair, afore, good Captain Pantler.