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It is the only Willo' the Wisp

Which leads men from the way; Twill make the tongue-tied lawyer lisp,

And nought but hic-up say. "Twill make the steward droop and stoop,

His bill he then will scorn, And at each post cast his reckoning up,

This little barley-corn.

Twill make a man grow jealous soon,

Whose pretty wife goes trim, And rail at the deceiving moon

For making horns at him : 'Twill make the maiden's trimly dance,

And take it in no scorn,
And help them to a friend by chance,

This little barley-corn.

It is the neatest serving-man,

To entertain a friend ;
It will do more than money can

All jarring suits to end.
There's life in it, and it is here,

'Tis here within this cup; Then take your liquor, do not spare,

But clear carouse it up.

6 The Second Part of the little Barley-Corn, That cheareth the heart both evening and morne.”

If sickness come this physick take,

It from your heart will set it,
If fear encroach, take more of it,

Your heart will soon forget it.
Apollo and the Muses nine

Do take it in no scorn,
There's no such stuff to


the time As the little barley-corn.

"Twill make a weeping willow laugh,

And soon incline to pleasure ;
'Twill make an old man leave his staff,

And dance a youthful measure ;
And though your clothes be ne'er so bad,

All ragged, rent, and torn,
Against the cold you may be clad

With little barley-corn.

'Twill make a coward not to shrink,

But be as stout as may be,
'Twill make a man that he shall think

That Joan's as good as my lady.

It will enrich the palest face,

And with rubies it adorn, Yet you shall think it no disgrace,

This little barley-corn.

"Twill make your gossips merry,

When they their liquor see, Hey, we shall ne'er be weary,

Sweet gossip here's to thee; "Twill make the country yeoman

The courtier for to scorn ; And talk of law-suits o'er a can

With this little barley-corn.

It makes a man that write cannot

To make you large indentures, When as he reeleth home at night,

Upon the watch he ventures; He cares not for the candle-light,

That shineth in the horn, Yet he will stumble the way aright

This little barley-corn.

'Twill make a miser prodigall,

And shew himself kind hearted, 'Twill make him never grieve at all

That from his coin hath parted,

Twill make the shepherd to mistake

His sheep before a storm, "Twill make the poet to excell,

This little barley-corn.

It will make young lads to call

Most freely for their liquor, "Twill make a young lass take a fall

* And rise again the quicker : 'Twill make a man that he

Shall sleep all night profoundly, And make a man, what'er he be,

Go about his business roundly,

Thus the barley-corn hath power,

Even for to change our nature,
And makes a shrew, within an hour,

Prove a kind-hearted creature :
And therefore here, I say again,

Let no man take 't in scorn,
That I the virtues do proclaim

Of the little barley-corn.

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Kent Street Clubb."

Here is a crew of jovial blades

That lov'd the nut-brown ale :
They in an alehouse chanc'd to meet,

And told a merry tale ::
A bonny Seaman was the first,

But newly come to town;
And swore that he his guts could burst,

With ale that was so brown.

See how the jolly Carman he

Doth the strong liquor prize, He so long in the alehouse sat,

That he drank out his eyes : And groping to get out of door,

(Sot like) he tumbled down, And there he like a madman swore,

He lov'd the ale so brown.

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