The antient tales that my Grannam hath told, Of the mirth she had in Parlour and Hall, How in Christmas time, they would dance, sing, and rime, As if they were mad, with a Pot of Good Ale. {324} Beere is a stranger, a Dutch Upstart come, Whose credit with us, sometimes is but small; But in the records of the Empire of Rome, The old Catholic drink is a Pot of Good Ale. To the praise of Gambinius, the old British King, Who devised for his nation (by the Welshmen’s tale), Seventeene hundred years before Christ did spring, The happie invention of a Pot of Good Ale. But he was a Pagan, and Ale then was rife, But after Christ came, and bade us, _All haile, Saint Tavie was neffer trink peere in her life, Put awle Callywhiblin_, and excellent Ale. All religions and nations, their humours and fashions Rich or poore, knave or whoore, dwarfish or tall Sheep or shrew, Ile avow, well I know will all bow, If they be but wel steep’d, with a Pot of Good Ale. O Ale, _ab alendo_, thou liquor of life, I wish that my mouth were as big as a Whale, But then ’twere to little, to reach thy least title, That belongs to the Praise of a Pot of Good Ale. Thus many a vertue to you I have showed, And not any vice in all this long tale, But after the Pot, there commeth a shot, And that is the Blot of a Pot of Good Ale. Well, said my friend, the blot I will beare, You have done very well, it is time to strike saile, We’ll have six Pots more, though we dye on the score, To make all _this good_ of a Pot of Good Ale. We may be pardoned for omitting “the valiant battell fought between the Norfolk Cock and the Wisbich Cock.” Returning again to the _Roxburghe Collection_. _A Health to all Good Fellowes_ is a very quaint old drinking song, having beneath its title a wood-cut no less quaint than the letterpress. It was printed about the commencement of the seventeenth century, for Henry Gossen. The author is unknown; possibly he was Martin Parker or Lawrence Price. {325} No copy beyond that in the _Roxburghe Collection_ is known to be in existence. The tune is a good one. A HEALTH TO ALL GOOD-FELLOWES: or, The good Companions Arithmeticke. To the tune of _To drive cold Winter away_. [Illustration] Be merry my hearts, and call for your quarts, and let no liquor go lacking, We have gold in store, we purpose to roar until we set care a packing. Then Hostis make haste, and let no time waste, let every man have his due, To save shooes and trouble, bring in the pots double for he that made one, made two.[63] * * * * * Then while we are here, wee’le drinke Ale and Beer, and freely our money wee’le spend, Let no man take care for paying his share, if need be Ile pay for my friend, Then Hostesse make haste, and let no time waste; you’re welcome all kind Gentlemen; {326} Never feare to carowse, while there is beere in the house, for he that made nine made ten.