COme bring us Wine in plenty,
We’ve Money enough to spend;
I hate to see the Pots empty,
A Man cannot Drink to’s Friend:
Then drawer bring up more Wine,
And merrily let it pass;
We’ll drink till our Faces do shine,
He that wont may look like an Ass:
And we’ll tell him so to his Face,
If he offers to baulk his Glass,
For we defy all such dull Society.
’Tis drinking makes us merry,
And Mirth diverts all Care;
A Song of hey down derry,
Is better than heavy Air:
Make ready quickly my Boys,
And fill up your Glasses higher;
For we’ll present with Huzzas,
And merrily all give fire;
Since drinking’s our desire,
And friendship we admire,
For here we’ll stay, ne’er call Drawer what’s to pay.
The Good Fellow.
[[Listen]]
LEt’s be jolly, fill our Glasses,
Madness ’tis for us to think,
How the World is rul’d by Asses,
That o’ersway the Wise with Chink:
Let not such vain Thoughts oppress us,
Riches prove to them a Snare;
We are all as rich as Crœsus,
Drink your Glasses, take no care.
Wine will make us fresh as Roses,
And our Sorrows all forgot;
Let us fuddle well our Noses,
Drink ourselves quite out of Debt:
When grim Death is looking for us,
Whilst we’re singing o’er our Bowls;
Bacchus joyning in our Chorus,
Death depart, here’s none but Souls.