Nay, said _Scogin_ keepe thy Cow still, and give me twenty shillings of my mony. That is of my gentlenes saith the Cowheard, howbeit you seeme to bee an honest man, there is twenty Shillings. JOAN'S Ale is New;[F. 235] OR: A new merry Medley, shewing the power, the strength, the operation, and the vertue that remains in good Ale, which is accounted the Mother-drink of _England_. All you that do this merry Ditty view, Taste of _Joan's_ Ale, for it is strong and new. To a pleasant New Northern Tune. [Illustration] There was a jovial Tinker, [122.] Which was a good Ale Drinker, He never was a shrinker, believe me this is true. And he came from the wild[F. 236] of Kent, When all his money was gone and spent, Which made him like a Jack a Lent. _And Jones Ale is new, And Jones Ale is new Boys, And Jones Ale is new._ The Tinker he did settle, Most like a man of Mettle, And vow'd to pawn his Kettle, now mark what did ensue. His Neibors they flockt in apace, To see Tom Tinker's comely face, Where they drank soundly for a space, _Whilst Jones Ale &c_ The Cobler and the Broom-man, Came next into the room man, And said they would drink for boon man let each one take his due. But when good liquor they found, They cast their caps upon the ground And to the Tinker they drank round; _Whilst Jones Ale &c_ The Rag man he being weary, With the bundle he did carry, He swore he would be merry, and spend a shilling or two. And he told his Hostis to her face, The Chimney Corner was his place And he began (to) drink apace. _And Jones Ale &c_ The Pedler he grew nigher, For it was his desire, To throw the Rags i'th' fire, and burn the bundle blew. So whilst they drank whole flashes, And threw about the Glasses, The rags were burnt to ashes, _And Jones Ale &c_ And then came in a Hatter, To see what was the matter, He scorned to drink cold water, amongst that Jovial crew. And like a man of courage stout, He took the quart-pot by the snout, And never left till all was out, _O Jones Ale &c_ The Taylor being nimble With Bodkin, Shears, and Thimble, He did no whit dessemble, I think his name was _True_ He said that he was like to choak, And called so fast for lap and smoak, Until he had pawned his Vinegar Cloake, _For Jones Ale &c_ Then came a pittiful Porter, Which often did resort there, Quoth he i'le shew some sport here, amongst this jovial crew. The Porter he had very bad luck, Before that it was ten o'clock, The fool got drunk and lost his frock, _For Jones Ale &c._ The bony brave Shoomaker, A brave Tobacco taker, He scorned to be a Quaker I think his name was _Hugh_. He called for liquor in so fast, Till he forgot his Awl and Last, And up the reckonings he did cast, _Whilst Jones Ale &c_