Roaring Dick of Dover: OR, 
The jovial good fellow of Kent,  
That ne'er is willing to give over,  
Till all his money be spent.   
To the tune of Fuddle, roar and swagger.  
 

here's a health to all good fellows,  
that intent with me to join,  
At the Tavern, or the Alehouse,  
and will freely spend their quoin.  
But for such as hate strong liquor,  
are not for my company,  
O it makes my wits the quicker,  
when I taste it thoroughly.   

I can fuddle, roar and swagger,  
sing and dance in several sort,  
And give six peuce to a beggar,  
in all this there's little hurt.  
Whilst some churl that's worth a million,  
will give nought in charity,  
But to himself he proves a villain:  
judge who's better he or I   

There's many men get store of treasure,  
yet they live like very slaves:  
In this world they have no pleasure,  
the more they have, the more they 〈◊〉.  
Hang such greedy-minded misers,  
that will ne'er contented be,  
I have heard by good advisers,  
that con●ent lives merrily.   

Wherefore should we live in sorrow,  
since we may embrace true joy  
To day alive, and dead to morrow,  
as most commonly they'll say.  
He is a fool that pin●s his carkaiss▪  
if he have to s●rue his turn,  
And perhaps sometimes in darkness,  
grafted is his head with horn.   

he's no right truehearted fellow,  
that in company will drink,  
Till such time as he is mellow,  
and not freely spend his chink.  
Let such sharking base companions.  
be kicked out of company▪  
For they be but beastly hang on●s;  
and will call, but we must pay.   

Come my Lads, be blithe and merry,  
sing and drink and trace your ground,  
And let's have a cup of Sherry;  
that (me thinks) ●oes kindly down.  
Le's not spare whilst we have money,  
for ●o pay for what ●e call,  
We needs must spa●e when we have not any,  
that's the greatest plague of all.   

The second part, To the same tune.  
 

HOnest Hugh, Tom, Will and Harry,  
they will join their money round,  
Kate, Nan, Bess and bouncing Mary,  
will no● shrink, but still are sound.  
They are Lads and honest Lasses,  
that to each others are kind,  
They'll sing & roar, break pots and glasses,  
when their heads are tipped with wine.   

Some men's wives will brawl & wrangle,  
if their husbands spend a pot,  
But myself I will entangle,  
with a Lass to pay my shot.  
I do hate these base conditions  
of a devilish scolding Quean,  
jealous heads have bad suspicion,  
you may think o● 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 mean.   

Women 〈◊〉 let me entreat you,  
that you will not brawl 〈◊〉 scold,  
For it makes your husbands beat you,  
some men will not be controlled,  
Therefore rest yourselves contented:  
best I hold it so to be:  
In your minds be not tormented:  
but take part as well as he.   

Me thinks it is a worldly pleasure,  
for to have a wife prove kind,  
'tis a joy beyond all measure▪  
〈◊〉 ●y 〈◊〉 the same do find.  
If I had a scolding creature,  
I should never merry be,  
〈◊〉 I many times should beat her,  
with her I could not agree.   

Tapster, come and take thy reckoning,  
tell me k●●●ly what's to pay,  
Yet Pieces in my pockets rattling,  
bid me longer ●hr● to stay,  
Come bring a pipe of good Tobacco,  
let it be the very best,  
That's the thing that here we take so,  
then come drink with us thy guests.   

Hang up sorrow, I can borrow  
money for to buy two pots,  
Who can say to live to morrow?  
then let's never sit like sots.  
When I have spent away my money,  
I will go and work for more,  
And I have a kind sweet honey  
that sometimes will pay my score.   

He that hath abundant treasure,  
hence shall nothing bear away:  
Then let's take some part of pleasure,  
drink and sing and freely pay.  
Whilst our time and money lasteth,  
let's not prove Curmudgeon boors,  
Time indeed away it hasteth:  
come let's go and pay our scores,   

Thus for to conclude my Ditty,  
here's a health to all true blades,  
Remembering, Kate, Nell, Sis, and Betty,  
and all other kind true Maids:  
I love Meg, Nan, Alice, and Mary,  
jane, and jone, and my fine Doll,  
With Winifred, and my sweet Sara.  
Thus, kind hearts, I leave you all.    
FINIS.  
R. C.   

Printed at London for H. C.