When Venus, the goddess of beauty and love,
Arose from the froth that swam on the sea,
Minerva sprang out of the cranium of Jove,
A coy, sullen dame, as most authors agree:
But Bacchus, they tell us (that prince of good fellows),
Was Jupiter's son: pray attend to my tale
For they who thus chatter mistake quite the matter,
He sprang from a barrel of Nottingham ale.
Nottingham ale, boys, Nottingham ale,
No liquor on earth is like Nottingham ale!

Ye Bishops and Curates, Priests, Deacons, and Vicars,
When once you have tasted you'll own it is true,
That Nottingham ale is the best of all liquors,
And none understood what is good like to you.
It dispels ev'ry vapour, saves pen, ink, and paper,
For, when you've a mind in the pulpit to rail,
'Twill open your throats; you may preach without notes,
When inspir'd with a bumper of Nottingham ale
Nottingham ale, boys, Nottingham ale, etc.

Ye Doctors, who more execution have done
With powders and potion and bolus and pill,
Than hangman with halter, or soldier with gun,
Or miser with famine, or lawyer with quill;
To despatch us the quicker, you forbid us malt liquor,
Till our bodies consume and our faces grow pale;
Let him mind you who pleases — what cures all disease is
A comforting glass of good Nottingham ale.
Nottingham ale, boys, Nottingham ale,
No liquor on earth is like Nottingham ale!