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.
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 cheeks.
Lo! the poor toper whose untutored sense, Sees bliss in ale, and can with wine dispense; Whose head proud fancy never taught to steer, Beyond the muddy ecstasies of beer.
I have fed purely upon ale; I have eat my ale, drank my ale, and I always sleep upon ale.
Say, for what were hop-yards meant, Or why was Burton built onTrent? Oh many a peer of England brews Livelier liquor than the Muse, And malt does more than Milton can To justify God's ways to man. Ale, man, ale's the stuff to drink For fellows whom it hurts to think.
The troubles of our proud and angry dust Are from eternity, and shall not fail. Bear them we can, and if we can we must. Shoulder the sky, my lad, and drink your ale.
Then to the spicy nut-brown ale.
With Mannerly Margery milk and ale.
Learn more about ale