The Courtier's Health or The Merry Boys Of The Times

Melody -

Cavalier Ballad; 1672

Come, boys, fill us a bumper,
Wee'l make the nation roar,
She's grown sick of a rumper,
That sticks on the old score.
Pox on phanaticks, rout 'um,
They thirst for our blood;
Wee'l taxes raise without 'um,
And drink for the nation's good.
Fill the pottles and the gallons,
And bring the hogshead in,
Wee'l begin with a tallen,
A brimmer to the King.

2. Round, around, fill a fresh one,
Let no man bawk his wine,
Wee'l drink to the next in succession,
And keep it in the right line.
Bring us ten thousand glasses,
The more we drink we're dry;
We mind not the beautiful lasses,
Whose conquest lyes all in the eye.

3. We boys are truly loyal,
For Charles wee'l venture all,
We know his blood is royal,
His name shall never fall.
But those that seek his ruine
May chance to dye before him,
While we that sacks are woeing
For ever will adore him.

4. I hate those strange dissenters
That strives to hawk a glass,
He that at all adventures
Will see what comes to pass:
And let the Popish nation
Disturb us if they can,
They ne'er shall breed distraction
In a true-hearted man.

5. Let the phanatics grumble
To see things cross their grain,
Wee'l make them now more humble
Or ease them of their pain:
They shall drink sack amain too,
Or they shall be choak't;
Wee'l tell 'um 'tis in vain too
For us to be provok't.

6. He that denyes the brimmer
Shall banish'd be in this isle,
And we will look more grimmer
Till he begins to smile:
Wee'l drown him in Canary,
And make him all our own,
And when his heart is merry
Hee'l drink to Charles on's throne.

7. Quakers and Anabaptists,
Wee'l sink them in a glass;
He deals most plain and flattest
That sayes he loves a lass:
Then tumble down Canary,
And let our brains go round,
For he that won't be merry
He can't at heart be sound.

From the Roxburgh Ballads, Vol. ii.
Printed for P. Brooksly, at the Golden Ball in West Smithfield, 1672.

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