Roving about, good fellows to meet

Roving about, good fellows to meet, I met with a man upon Sal'sbury dale; I saw by his face that he was in good case To go and shake hands with a pot of good ale.

The beggar who begs without any legs, And has not a rag to cover her tail, Is as happy in rags as the miser with bags, If once she shakes hands with a pot of good ale.

The old parish vicar, when he's in his liquor, Does merrily at his parishoners rail, "Come pay all your tithes, or I'll kiss all your wives," When once he shakes hands with a pot of good ale.

The old parish-clerk, his eyes are so dark, He cannot well read, the print is so small; But he'll see ev'ry letter, and sing the psalms better, If once he shakes hands with a pot of good ale.

The farmer who hedges and ditches all day, And wearies himself out at the plough-tail, He'll talk of great things, about princes and kings, When once he sits down to a pot of good ale.

If, in drinking about, we chance to fall out, Or any thing else doth our senses assail; If words comes to brows, or a sharp bloody nose, We'll drink and shakehands with a pot of good ale.