We are na fou, we’re no that fou, But just a drappie in our e’e, The cock may craw, the day may daw, And aye we’ll taste the barley bree! The occasion which the song was intended to celebrate is not so commonly known. The “three merry boys,” Willie, Rob, and Alan were respectively William Nicol, of the High School, Edinburgh, our poet, and Alan Masterton, who was a schoolmaster and musical amateur. The place of meeting was a small farm named Laggan, belonging to Nicol. The inspiring ale was Nicol’s, the song was Burns’, and the music was Alan Masterton’s. “We had such a joyous meeting,” says Burns, “that Mr. Masterton and I agreed, each in our own way, to celebrate the business.” {171} To pass to the Principality, Welsh ales were in Saxon times well known and highly esteemed. In the laws of Hywel Dda two kinds of ale are mentioned—Bragawd[49], which was paid as tribute to the King by a free township, and Cwrwf, which was more common, and was paid by the servile township in cases where the former kind ran short. It may be hence gathered that in early times the highly-flavoured Bragawd was held in greater estimation than the Cwrwf; yet the latter has out-lived the former, and is still to be had in various parts of Wales, where it is consumed with great gusto by Cambria’s patriotic sons. [49] Bragawd or Bragot. See p. 379. The neighbouring county of Hereford, now a great cider-drinking locality, had in former times at least one town with a reputation for good ale. “Lemster bread and Weobley ale” had passed into a proverb before the seventeenth century. The saying seems, however, to have been affected chiefly by the inhabitants of the county, who, perhaps, were not quite impartial. Ray, writing in 1737, ventures to question the pre-eminence ascribed to the places mentioned. For wheat he gives Hesten, in Middlesex, “and for ale Derby town, and Northdown in the Isle of Thanet, Hull in Yorkshire, and Sandbich in Cheshire, will scarcely give place to Weobley.” Herrick mentions this celebrated Northdown ale in the lines:— That while the wassaile bowle here With North-down ale doth troule here, No sillable doth fall here, To marre the mirth at all here. Norfolk was once celebrated for a strong ale, bearing the euphonious name of _Norfolk Nog_. It is mentioned in Vanbrugh’s _Journey to London_, “Here, John Moody,” says Sir Francis, “get us a tankard of good hearty stuff presently.” “Sir,” is the reply, “here’s Norfolk Nog to be had next door.” Swift also knew something of this brew, and mentions that “Walpole laid a quart of nog on it.” “Clamber-skull” is probably a variety of this strong Norfolk ale, and earned its name from the rapidity with which it mounted to the heads of its votaries. Norfolk still holds a high place as an ale-producing county, and the ales of Great Yarmouth and Norwich are justly celebrated. Banbury produced a mighty ale in the seventeenth century, if we may judge from the couplet in _Wit Restored_:—