If e’er he went into excess,
’Twas from a somewhat lively thirst;
But he who would his subjects bless,
Odd’s fish! must wet his whistle first;
And so, from every cask they got,
Our king did to himself allot
At least a pot.
Sing ho, ho, ho! and he, he, he!
That’s the kind of king for me.
To all the ladies of the land