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Now let them drynke, tyll they nod and winke, Even as goode fellowes sholde doe, They shall not mysse to have the blisse, Good ale doth bring men to; And all poore soules that have scowred bowles, Or have them lustily trolde, God save the lyves of them and their wives, Whether they be yonge or olde. Chorus. Backe and syde go bare, go bare, etc.
In his coming towarde the ennemy, he throweth his stone, fetching his ronne, and maketh lightlye a narowe mysse, thoughe it be a good waye of: suche continuall practise they haue of it. They kiepe neither lawe ne faithe. But not meaninge in him so much tirany in diede, as some time some of our gouernours vnder a fayrer name do execute.
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