A Song upon Ale.  

I.  
WHen the i'll Sirocco blows,  
And Winter tells an heavy Tale,  
When Daws, and Pies, and Rooks and Crows  
Sat cursing of the Frosts and Snows,  
Then give me Ale.   

II.  
Ale, in a Northern Rumkin there,  
Such as will make grim Malkin prate,  
Makes Valour bourgeon in tall Men,  
Quickens the Poet's Wit and Pen,  
And laughs at Fate.   

III.  
Ale, which the Tinker's hammer steels,  
And drum's it on the clamorous brass,  
Larrums the Country Town and Fields,  
When Madges kettles out at heels,  
And torn poor Lass.   

IV.  
Ale, which the absent Battle fights,  
And forms the march of warlike Drum,  
Disputes of Princes, Laws and Rights,  
What was, what is, tells Mortal Wights,  
And what's to come.   

V.  
Ale, which the Beggar's Heart up keeps,  
And equals them to Tyrant's Thrones,  
Which wipes the Eye that over-weeps,  
And lulls in sweet and gentle sleeps,  
Our wearied bones.   

VI  
Grandchild of Ceres, Barley's Daughter,  
Wine's emulous Sister, if but stale,  
Ennobling all the Nymphs of Water,  
Thine half Blood, Grandmother of Laughter,  
Ah, give me Ale▪    

Licenced and Entered according to Order.  
LONDON, Printed for P. W. 1689.