A pleasanter Monarch sure never was known.
As he was a-hunting the swift fallow-deer,
He dropped all his nobles; and when he got clear,
In hope of some pastime away he did ride,
Till he came to an alehouse, hard by a wood-side.
And there with a Tinkler he happened to meet,
And him in kind sort he so freely did greet:
“Pray thee, good fellow, what hast in thy jug,
Which under thy arm thou dost lovingly hug?”
“By the mass!” quoth the Tinkler, “it’s nappy brown ale,