’Twill make a weeping widdow laugh and soone incline to pleasure; ’Twill make an old man leave his staffe and dance a youthful measure: And though your clothes be nere so bad all ragged rent and torne, Against the cold you may be clad _with the little Barley-corne_. * * * * * Thus the Barley-Corne hath power even for to change our nature, And make a shrew, within an houre, prove a kind-hearted creature: And therefore here, I say againe, let no man tak’t in scorne, That I the vertues doe proclaime _of the little Barley-corne_.” Printed at London for E. B. The following song in praise of ale is taken from _London Chanticleers_, a rude sketch of a play printed in 1659, but evidently much older. The {307} reference to being “without hops” in the verse vii. is noticeable. It will be remembered that the ale which our forefathers drank was made without hops, which “pernicious weeds” were only used in the “Dutchman’s strong beere.” I. Submit, Bunch of Grapes, To the strong Barley ear; The weak wine no longer The laurel shall wear. II. Sack, and all drinks else, Desist from the strife: Ale’s the only Aqua Vitæ, And liquor of life. III. Then come my boon fellows, Let’s drink it around; It keeps us from grave, Though it lays us on ground. IIII. Ale’s a Physician, No Mountebank Bragger: Can cure the chill Ague, Though it be with the Stagger. V. Ale’s a strong Wrestler, Flings all it hath met; And makes the ground slippery, Though it be not wet. VI. Ale is both Ceres And good Neptune too; Ale’s froth was the sea, From which Venus grew. VII. Ale is immortal: And be there no stops In bonny lad’s quaffing, Can live without hops. {308} VIII. Then come my boon fellows, Let’s drink it around: It keeps us from grave, Though it lays us on ground. The ballad entitled the _Merry Hoastess_ is probably of an earlier date than 1664. It bears the initials T. R., and was, perhaps, composed by Thomas Randal. The tune to which it was sung is a capital one, and is to be found in Mr. William Chappell’s _Popular Music_. This ballad is in the first volume of the _Roxburghe Collection_. THE MERRY HOASTESS or A pretty new Ditty, compos’d by an Hoastess that lives in the City, To wrong such an Hoastess it were a great Pitty, By reason she caused this pretty new Ditty. To the tune of _Buffcoat has no fellow_. [Illustration] {309} Come all that loves good company, and hearken to my ditty, ’Tis of a lovely Hoastess fine, that lives in London City; Which sells good ale, nappy and stale, and alwayes thus sings she, My ale was tunn’d, when I was young, and a little above my knee.