Not onely the Body so feeble and fraile;

For, Body and Soul may blesse the black bowle,

Since both are beholden to a Pot of good ale.

For, when heavinesse the mind doth oppresse,

And sorrow and grief the heart do assaile,

No remedy quicker than to take off your Liquor,

And to wash away cares with a pot of good ale.

The Widow that buried her Husband of late,

Will soon have forgotten to weep and to waile,

And think every day twain, till she marry again,