Her ale is lively, strong and stout, if you please but to taste; It is well brew’d you need not fear, but I pray you make no waste: It is lovely brown, the best in town, and alwayes thus sings she, My ale was tunn’d when I was young, and a little above my knee. The gayest lady with her fan, doth love such nappy ale, Both city maids and country girls that carries the milking pail: Will take a touch and not think much to sing so merrily, My ale was tunn’d when I was young, and a little above my knee. Both lord and esquire hath a desire unto it night and day, For a quart or two be it old or new, and for it they will pay, With pipe in hand, they may her command to sing most merrily, My ale was tunn’d when I was young, and a little above my knee. You’r welcome all brave gentlemen, if you please to come in, To take a cup I do intend, and a health for to begin: To all the merry joval blades, that will sing for company, My ale was tunn’d when I was young, and a little above my knee. {310} Here’s a health to all brave Englishmen, that loves this cup of ale; Let every man fill up his can, and see that none do fail; ’Tis very good to nourish the blood, and make you sing with me, My ale was tunn’d when I was young, and a little above my knee. SECOND PART. [Illustration] The bonny Scot will lay a plot to get a handsome tutch Of this my ale, so good and stale, so will the cunning Dutch: They will take a part with all their heart, to sing this tune with me, My ale was tunn’d when I was young, and a little above my knee. It will make the Irish cry A-hone! if they but take their fill, And put them all quite out of tune let them use their chiefest skill. {311} So strong and stout it will hold out in any company, For my ale was tunn’d when I was young, and a little above my knee. The Welchman on St. David’s day will cry, Cots plutter a nail, Hur will hur ferry quite away, from off that nappy ale; It makes hur foes with hur red nose, hur seldom can agree, But my ale was tunn’d when I was young, and a little above my knee. The Spaniard stout will have a bout, ’cause he hath store of gold, Till at the last, he is laid fast, my ale doth him so hold: His ponyard strong is laid along, yet he is good company, For my ale was tunn’d when I was young, and a little above my knee. There’s never a tradesman in England, that can my ale deny, The weaver, taylor and glover delights it for to buy, Small money they do take away, if that they drink with me, For my ale was tunn’d when I was young, and a little above my knee. There is Smug the honest Blacksmith, he seldom can pass be, Because a spark lies in his throat which makes him very dry: But my old ale tells him his tale, so finely we agree, For my ale was tunn’d when I was young, and a little above my knee.