And Tib, my wife, that as her life
Loveth well good ale to seek,
Full oft drinks she till ye may see
The tears run down her cheek.
Then doth she trowl to me the bowl
Even as a maltworm should,
And saith, 'Sweetheart, I took my part
Of this jolly good ale and old.'
Now let them drink till they nod and wink,
Even as good fellows should do;
They shall not miss to have the bliss
Good ale doth bring men to;
And all poor souls that have scour'd bowls,
Or have them lustily troll'd,
God save the lives of them and their wives
Whether they be young or old.
Back and side go bare, go bare;
Both foot and hand go cold;
But, belly, God send thee good ale enough,
Whether it be new or old.
PHILLIDA AND CORYDON
NICHOLAS BRETON
In the merry month of May,
In a morn by break of day,
With a troop of damsels playing
Forth I went forsooth a-maying.
When anon by a wood side,
Where, as May was in his pride,
I espied, all alone,
Phillida and Corydon.
Much ado there was, God wot!
He would love, and she would not,
She said, never man was true:
He says none was false to you;
He said he had lov'd her long;
She says love should have no wrong,
Corydon would kiss her then;
She says, maids must kiss no men,
Till they do for good and all,
When she made the shepherd call
All the heavens to witness truth,
Never lov'd a truer youth.