A cup of wine that's brisk and fine,

And drink unto the leman mine;

And a merry heart lives long-a.

Fill the cup, and let it come :
I'll pledge you a mile to the bottom.

C

OME, thou Monarch of the vine,

Plumpy Bacchus with pink eyne!

In thy vats our cares be drown'd,

With thy grapes our hairs be crown'd:
Cup us, till the world go round,

Cup us, till the world go round!

That sir, which serves and seeks for gain

And follows but for form,

Will pack when it begins to rain,

And leave thee in the storm.

But I will tarry; the fool will stay,

And let the wise man fly;

The knave turns fool that runs away;

The fool no knave, perdy.