Come let us drink the other pot,
Our sorrows to confound;
We'll laugh and sing before the king,
So let his health go round.
For I am as bold as bold can be
No cobbler e'er was ruder;
Then here, good fellow, here's to thee,
(Remembering Harry Tudor.)
When I'm at work within my stall,
Upon him I will think;
His kindness I to mind will call,
Whene'er I eat or drink.
His kindness was to me so great,
The like was never known,
His kindness I shall still repeat,
And so shall my wife Joan.
I'll laugh when I sit in my stall,
And merrily will sing;
That I with my poor last and awl,
Am fellow with the king.
But it is more I must confess,
Than I at first did know;
But Harry Tudor, ne'ertheless,
Resolves it shall be so.
And now farewell unto Whitehall,
I homeward must retire;
To sing and whistle in my stall,
My Joan will me desire.
I do but think how she shall laugh,
When she hears of this thing,
That he that drank her nut-brown ale,
Was England's Royal King.
Chapter VI.
How the cobbler became a courtier.
Now the king considering the pleasant humour of the cobbler, how innocently merry he was and free from any design; that he was a person that laboured very hard, and took a great deal of pains for a small livelihood, was pleased, out of his princely grace and favour, to allow him a liberal annuity of forty merks a year, for the better support of his jolly humour and the maintenance of his wife Joan, and that he should be admitted one of his courtiers, and that he might have the freedom of his cellar whenever he pleased.
Which being so much beyond expectation, did highly exalt the cobbler's humour, much to the satisfaction of the king.
So after a great many legs and scrapes, he returned home to his wife Joan, with the joyful news of his reception at court, which so well pleased her that she did not think much at the great pains she took in decking him for the journey.