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The nimble Weaver he came in,

And swore he'd have a little ; To drink good ale it was no sin,

Though 't made him pawn his shuttle :
Quoth he, I am a gentleman,

No lusty country clown,
But yet I love, with all my heart,

The ale that is so brown.

Then next the Blacksmith he came in,

And said 'twas mighty hot; He sitting down did thus begin,

Fair maid, bring me a pot: Let it be of the very best,

That none exceeds in town, I tell you true, and do not jest,

I love the ale so brown.

The prick-louse Taylor he came in,

Whose tongue did run so nimble,
And said he would engage for drink

His bodkin and his thimble :
For though with long thin jaws I look,

I value not a crown,
So I can have my belly full

Of ale that is so brown.

L

The lusty Porter passing by

With basket on his back,
He said that he was grievous dry,

And needs would pawn his sack : His angry wife he did not fear,

He valued not her frown;
So he had that he lov'd so dear,

I mean the ale so brown.

The next that came was one of them

Was of the gentle craft,
And when that he was wet within,

Most heartily he laugh’d,
Crispin was ne'er so boon as he,

Tho' some kin to a crown, And there he sat most merrily

With ale that was so brown.

But at the last a Barber he

A mind had for to taste; He called for a pint of drink

And said he was in haste : The drink so pleas'd he tarried there,

Till he had spent a crown ; 'Twas all the money he could spare

For ale that is so brown.

A Broom-man, as he passed by,

His morning draughts did lack, Because that he no money had,

He pawn'd his shirt from his back : And said that he without a shirt,

Would cry brooms up and down, But yet, quoth he, I'll merry be

With ale that is so brown.

But when all these together met,

Oh what discourse was there, "Twould make one's hair to stand an end,

To hear how they did swear! One was a fool and puppy dog,

The other was a clown, And there they sat, and swill’d their guts

With ale that was so brown.

The landlady they did abuse,

And call'd her nasty whore,
Quoth she, do you your reckoning pay

And get you out of door:
Of them she could no money get,

Which caused her to frown,
But loath they were to leave behind

The ale that was so brown.

XXXIX.

LONDON'S ORDINARY,

OR,

Every Man in his Humour.

To a pleasant new Tune.

(From a black letter copy printed by Coles, Vere, Wright,

and Clarke.]

Through the Royal Exchange as I walked,

Where gallants in satin did shine : At midst of the day they parted away

At several places to dine.

The gentry went to the King's-head,

The nobles unto the Crown,
The knights unto the Golden Fleece,

And the ploughman to the Clown.

The clergy will dine at the Mitre,

The vintners at the Three Tuns, The usurers to the Devil will go,

And the friars unto the Nuns.

The ladies will dine at the Feathers,

The Globe no captain will scorn,
The huntsman will go to the Greyhound below,

And some townsmen to the Horn.

The plumber will dine at the Fountain,

The cooks at the Holy Lamb, The drunkards, at noon, to the Man in the Moon,

And the cuckolds to the Ram.

The roarers will dine at the Lion,

The watermen at the Old Swan, The bawds will to the Negro go,

And the whores to the Naked Man.

The keepers will to the White Hart,

The mariners unto the Ship,
The beggars they must take their way

To the Eggshell and the Whip.

The farriers will to the Horse,

The blacksmith unto the Lock, The butchers to the Bull will go,

And the carmen to Bridewell Dock.

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The fishmongers unto the Dolphin,

The bakers to the Cheat Loaf, The turners unto the Ladle will go,

Where they may merrily quaff.

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