BALLAD. (Wounds, here's such a coil! I am…)

Wounds, here's such a coil! I am none of your poor Petty varlets, who flatter, and cringe, and procure; I'm a freeman, a nabob, a king on his throne, For I've chattles, and goods, and strong beer of my own:

Besides, 'tis a rule that good fellows ne'er fail To let any thing wait but the generous ale.

My interest I love; thee I love too, good wife, But still I love better a jovial life; And for thee, or my lady, with duty devout, I'll run to Old Nick, when the dobbin's drank out.

But, 'tis always a rule that good fellows ne'er fail To let any thing wait, but the generous ale.