William Browne
Sing me a song of merry glee,
And Bacchus fill the bowl.
1. Then here's to thee: 2. And thou to me
And every thirsty soul.
Nor Care nor Sorrow e'er paid debt,
Nor never shall do mine;
I have no cradle going yet,
Not I, by this good wine.
No wife at home to send for me,
No hogs are in my ground,
No suit in law to pay a fee,
Then round, old Jocky, round.
All.
Shear sheep that have them, cry we still,
But see that no man 'scape
To drink of the sherry.
That makes us so merry,
And plump as the lusty grape.
Welcome, welcome, do I sing,
Far more welcome than the spring;
He that parteth from you never
Shall enjoy a spring for ever.
Love, that to the voice is near
Breaking from your iv'ry pale,
Need not walk abroad to hear
The delightful nightingale.
Welcome, welcome, then I sing,
Far more welcome than the spring;
He that parteth from you never
Shall enjoy a spring for ever.
57
