John Still (1543?–1608)

I CANNOT eat but little meat,

My stomach is not good;

But sure I think that I can drink

With him that wears a hood.

Though I go bare, take ye no care,

I nothing am a-cold;

I stuff my skin so full within

Of jolly good ale and old.

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.

I love no roast but a nut-brown toast,

And a crab laid in the fire;

A little bread shall do me stead;

Much bread I not desire.

No frost nor snow, no wind, I trow,

Can hurt me if I wold;

I am so wrapp’d and thoroughly lapp’d

Of jolly good ale and old.
Back and side go bare, go bare, etc.

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 cheek:

Then doth she trowl to me the bowl

Even as a maltworm should,

And saith, ‘Sweetheart, I took my part

Of this jolly good ale and old.’
Back and side go bare, go bare, etc.

Now let them drink till they nod and wink,

Even as good fellows should do;

They shall not miss to have the bliss

Good ale doth bring men to;

And all poor souls that have scoured bowls

Or have them lustily troll’d,

God save the lives of them and their wives,

Whether they be young or old.

Back and side go bare, go bare;

Both foot and hand go cold;

But, belly, God send thee good ale and cold,

Whether it be new or old.