  Come let us drink the other pot, Our sorrows to confound; We'll laugh and sing before the king, So let his health go round. For I am as bold as bold can be No cobbler e'er was ruder; Then here, good fellow, here's to thee, (Remembering Harry Tudor.) When I'm at work within my stall, Upon him I will think; His kindness I to mind will call, Whene'er I eat or drink. His kindness was to me so great, The like was never known, His kindness I shall still repeat, And so shall my wife Joan. I'll laugh when I sit in my stall, And merrily will sing; That I with my poor last and awl, Am fellow with the king. But it is more I must confess, Than I at first did know; But Harry Tudor, ne'ertheless, Resolves it shall be so. And now farewell unto Whitehall, I homeward must retire; To sing and whistle in my stall, My Joan will me desire. I do but think how she shall laugh, When she hears of this thing, That he that drank her nut-brown ale, Was England's Royal King. |
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