I cannot truely expresse it;
When with you I meet, your words are so sweet,
I am unwilling to misse it.
I hate all base slaves that their money saves,
and all those that use base tricks,
For with joviall blades, I'm merry as the Maids,
for he that made five made six.
Then drink about round till sorrow be dround,
and let us sing hey downe a derry,
I cannot endure, to sit thus demure,