Classic Poem

I CANNOT eat but little meat,
— My stomach is not good;
But sure I think that I can drink
— With him that wears a hood.
Though I go bare, take ye no care,
— I nothing am a-cold;
I stuff my skin so full within
— Of jolly good ale and old.
— — Back and side go bare, go bare;
— — Both foot and hand go cold;
— — But, belly, God send thee good ale enough,
— — Whether it be new or old.

I love no roast but a nut-brown toast,
— And a crab laid in the fire;
A little bread shall do me stead;
— Much bread I not desire.
No frost nor snow, no wind, I trow,
— Can hurt me if I wold;
I am so wrapped and thoroughly lapped
— Of jolly good ale and old.

And Tib, my wife, that as her life
— Loveth well good ale to seek,
Full oft drinks she till ye may see
— The tears run down her cheek:
Then doth she trowl to me the bowl
— Even as a maltworm should,
And saith, " Sweetheart, I took my part
— Of this jolly good ale and old. "

Now let them drink till they nod and wink,
— Even as good fellows should do;
They shall not miss to have the bliss
— Good ale doth bring men to;
And all poor souls that have scoured bowls
— Or have them lustily trolled,
God save the lives of them and their wives,
— Whether they be young or old.
— — Back and side go bare, go bare;
— — Both foot and hand go cold;
— — But, belly, God send thee good ale enough,
— — Whether it be new or old.