For wine and good cheer, be it never so dear,
I vow I the reckning will pay.
Come, ‘brothers,’ be merry, said jolly Robìn,
Let us drink, and never give ore ;
For the shot I will pay, ere I go my way,
If it cost me five pounds and more.
This is a mad blade, the butchers then said.
Saies the sheriff, He is some prodigal,
That some land has sold for silver and gold,
And now he doth mean to spend all.