With sev'ral dishes standing by,

As here a custard, there a pie,

And here all tempting frumentie.

And for to make the merry cheere,

If smirking wine be wanting here,

There's that, which drowns all care, stout beere;

Which freely drink to your Lord's health,

Then to the plough, the commonwealth;

Next to your flailes, your fanes, your fats;

Then to the maids with wheaten hats;