They rode up to the house, and they rapped at the door,
And out came Jockey, the hosteler.
‘D’ye brew ony ale? D’ye sell ony beer?
Or have ye ony lodgings for strangers here?’
‘Yes, we have brewed ale this fifty lang year,
And we have got lodgings for strangers here.’
So the roast to the fire, and the pot hung on,
’Twas all to accommodate poor Jack and Tom.
When supper was over, and all was sided down,
The glasses of wine did go merrily roun’.
‘Here is to thee, Jack, and here is to thee,
And all the bonny lasses in our countrie!’
‘Here is to thee, Tom, and here is to thee,
And look they may leuk for thee and me!’
’Twas early next morning, before the break of day,
They mounted their horses, and so they rode away.
Poor Jack, he died upon a far foreign shore,
And Tom, he was never, never heard of more!
JOAN’S ALE WAS NEW.
[Ours is the common version of this popular song; it varies considerably from the one given by D’Urfey, in the Pills to purge Melancholy. From the names of Nolly and Joan and the allusion to ale, we are inclined to consider the song as a lampoon levelled at Cromwell, and his wife, whom the Royalist party nick-named ‘Joan.’ The Protector’s acquaintances (depicted as low and vulgar tradesmen) are here humorously represented paying him a congratulatory visit on his change of fortune, and regaling themselves with the ‘Brewer’s’ ale. The song is mentioned in Thackeray’s Catalogue, under the title of Joan’s Ale’s New; which may be regarded as circumstantial evidence in favour of our hypothesis. The air is published in Popular Music, accompanying three stanzas of a version copied from the Douce collection. The first verse in Mr. Chappell’s book runs as follows:—
There was a jovial tinker,
Who was a good ale drinker,
He never was a shrinker,
Believe me this is true;
And he came from the Weald of Kent,
When all his money was gone and spent,
Which made him look like a Jack a-lent.
And Joan’s ale is new, my boys,
And Joan’s ale is new.]
There were six jovial tradesmen,
And they all sat down to drinking,
For they were a jovial crew;
They sat themselves down to be merry;
And they called for a bottle of sherry,
You’re welcome as the hills, says Nolly,
While Joan’s ale is new, brave boys,
While Joan’s ale is new.
The first that came in was a soldier,
With his firelock over his shoulder,
Sure no one could be bolder,
And a long broad-sword he drew:
He swore he would fight for England’s ground,
Before the nation should be run down;
He boldly drank their healths all round,
While Joan’s ale was new.
The next that came in was a hatter,
Sure no one could be blacker,
And he began to chatter,
Among the jovial crew:
He threw his hat upon the ground,
And swore every man should spend his pound,
And boldly drank their hearths all round,
While Joan’s ale was new.