But yf that I maye have, trwly, Goode ale my belly full, I shall looke lyke one (by swete sainte Johnn) Were shoron agaynste the woole. Thowthe I goo bare, take ye no care, I am nothynge colde. I stuffe my skynne so full within Of joly good ale and olde. I cannot eate but lytyll meate; My stomacke ys not goode; But sure I thyncke that I cowde dryncke With hym that werythe an hoode. Dryncke ys my lyfe; although my wyfe Some tyme do chyde and scolde, Yete spare I not to plye the potte Of joly goode ale and olde. Backe and syde, etc. I love no roste but a browne toste, Or a crabbe in the fyer; A lytyll breade shall do me steade, Mooche breade I never desyer. Nor froste, nor snowe, nor wynde, I trow, Canne hurte me yf hyt wolde; I am so wrapped within, and lapped With joly goode ale and olde. Backe and syde, etc. I care ryte noughte, I take no thowte For clothes to kepe me warme; Have I goode dryncke, I surely thyncke Nothyng can do me harme. For trwly than I feare no man, Be he never so bolde, When I am armed, and throwly warmed With joly good ale and olde. Backe and syde, etc. But nowe and than I curse and banne; They make ther ale so small! God geve them care, and evill to fare! They strye the malte and all. Soche pevisshe pewe, I tell yowe trwe, Not for a crowne of golde There commethe one syppe within my lyppe, Whether hyt be newe or olde. Backe and syde, etc. Good ale and stronge makethe me amonge Full joconde and full lyte, That ofte I slepe, and take no kepe From mornynge untyll nyte. Then starte I uppe, and fle to the cuppe; The ryte waye on I holde. My thurste to staunche I fyll my paunche With joly goode ale and olde. Backe and syde, etc. And Kytte, my wyfe, that as her lyfe Lovethe well good ale to seke, Full ofte drynkythe she that ye maye se The teares ronne downe her cheke. Then dothe she troule to me the bolle As a goode malte-worme sholde, And say, "Swete harte, I have take my parte Of joly goode ale and olde." Backe and syde, etc. They that do dryncke tylle they nodde and wyncke, Even as good fellowes shulde do, They shall notte mysse to have the blysse That good ale hathe browghte them to. And all poore soules that skoure blacke bolles, And them hath lustely trowlde, God save the lyves of them and ther wyves, Wether they be yonge or olde! Backe and syde, etc. _John Lyly_ ALEXANDER AND CAMPASPE _Edited with Critical Essay and Notes by George P. Baker, A.B., Asst. Professor in Harvard University_ CRITICAL ESSAY