First Lines of the “Antidote” Songs:
Given in this Volume (and not in M. D. C.).
| [Present Reprint,] | Page |
| A Man of Wales, a little before Easter | [157] |
| An old house end | [153] |
| Bring out the [c]old Chyne | [146] |
| Come, come away to the Tavern, I say | [150] |
| Come hither, thou merriest of all the Nine | [133] |
| Come, let us cast dice who shall drink | [151] |
| Drink, drink, all you that think | [158] |
| Fly boy, fly boy, to the cellar’s bottom | [157] |
| Good Symon, how comes it | [154] |
| Hang Sorrow, and cast away Care | [152] |
| Hang the Presbyter’s Gill | [144] |
| He that a Tinker, a tinker will be | [52] |
| In love? away! you do me wrong | [147] |
| I’s not come here to tauke of Prut | [141] |
| Jog on, jog on the foot-path-way | [156] |
| Let’s cast away Care | [152] |
| Mongst all the pleasant juices | [150] |
| My Lady and her Maid | [152] |
| Never let a man take heavily | [151] |
| Not drunken nor sober | [113] |
| Of all the birds that ever I see | [155] |
| Old Poets Hypocrin admire | [143] |
| Once I a curious eye did fix | [139] |
| The parcht earth drinks the rain | [157] |
| The wit hath long beholden been | [135] |
| There was an old man at Walton Cross | [151] |
| This Ale, my bonny lads | [155] |
| ’Tis Wine that inspires | [145] |
| Welcome, welcome, again to thy wit | [159] |
| What are we met? Come, let’s see | [156] |
| Why should we boast of Arthur | [129] |
| Wilt thou be fat? I’ll tell thee how | [154] |
| Wilt thou lend me thy mare | [153] |
| With an old song made by an old a. p. | [125] |
| You merry Poets, old boyes | [149] |
| Your mare is lame, she halts outright | [153] |
Here the Editor closes his willing toil, (after having added a Table of First Lines, and a Finale,) and offers a completed work to the friendly acceptance of Readers. They are no vague abstractions to him, but a crowd of well-distinguished faces, many among them being renowned scholars and genial critics. To approach them at all might be deemed temerity, were it not that such men are the least to be feared by an honest worker. On the other hand, it were easy for ill-natured persons to insinuate accusations against any one who meddles with Re-prints of Facetiæ. Blots and stains are upon such old books, which he has made no attempt to disguise or palliate. Let them bear their own blame. There are dullards and bigots in the world, nevertheless, who decry all antiquarian and historical research. A defence is unnecessary: “Let them rave!”
Fama di loro il mondo esser non lassa,