If the Ale I drank last were nappy and stale,
To do it its right, and stir up my sprite,
And fall to commend a pot [of good ale]. [passim.]
Quoth I, To commend it I dare not begin,
Lest therein my Credit might happen to fail;
For, many men now do count it a sin,
But once to look toward a pot of good ale.
Yet I care not a pin, For I see no such sin,
Nor any thing else my courage to quail:
For, this we do find, that take it in kind,