Not drunk nor sober, (but neighbour to both,) I met with a friend in Alesberry vale; He saw by my face, that I was in the case, To speak no great harm of a Pot of Good Ale.
And as we did meet, and friendly did greet, He put me in mind of the name of the Dale, That for Alesberries sake, some paines I would take, And not burie the praise of a Pot of Good Ale.
The more to procure me, then did he adjure me, (If the ale I drank last, were nappie and stale,) To doe it its right, and stir up my spright, And fall to commend a Pot of Good Ale. {321}
Quoth I, to commend it, I dare not begin, Lest therein my cunning might happen to faile, For many there be that count it a sin, But once to look towards a Pot of Good Ale.
Yet I care not a pin, for I see no such sin, Nor any else that my courage may quaile, For this I do find, being taken in kind, Much vertue there is in a Pot of Good Ale.
When heavinesse the mind doth oppresse, And sorrow and griefe the heart doth assaile, No remedy quicker but take up your liquour, And wash away care with a Pot of Good Ale.
The Priest and the Clark, whose sights are dark, And the print of the letter doth seeme too small, They will con every letter, and read service better, If they glaze but their eyes with a Pot of Good Ale.
The Poet divine, that cannot reach wine, Because that his money doth oftentimes faile, Will hit on the veine, and reach the high straine, If he be but inspired with a Pot of Good Ale.
All writers of Ballads, for such whose mishap From Newgate up Holbourne to Tyburne doe saile, Shall have sudden expression of all their confession, If the Muse be but dew’d with a Pot of Good Ale.
The Prisoner that is enclos’d in the grate, Will shake off remembrance of bondage and jaile, Of hunger or cold, or fetters or fate, If he pickle himself with a Pot of Good Ale.