Come drink, we cannot want Chink,
Observe how my pockets do gingle,
And he that takes his Liquor all off
I here do adopt him mine ningle:
Then range a health to our King,
I mean the King of October,
For Bacchus is he that will not agree
A man should go to bed sober:
’Tis wine, both neat and fine,
That is the faces adorning,