‘Fore God, they have given me a rouse already
‘Fore God, they have given me a rouse already.
Good faith, a little one; not past a pint, as I
am a soldier.
Some wine, ho! Sings.
And let me the cannikin clink, clink,
And let me the cannikin clink.
A soldier's a man,
O, man's life's but a span,
Why, then, let a soldier drink.
Some wine, boys!
‘Fore God, an excellent song.
I learned it in England, where indeed they are
most potent in potting. Your Dane, your German,
and your swag-bellied Hollander—drink, ho!—are
nothing to your English.
Is your Englishman so exquisite in his drinking?
Why, he drinks you, with facility, your Dane
dead drunk. He sweats not to overthrow your Almain.
He gives your Hollander a vomit ere the next
pottle can be filled.
To the health of our general!
I am for it, lieutenant, and I'll do you justice.
O sweet England! Sings.
King Stephen was and-a worthy peer,
His breeches cost him but a crown;
He held them sixpence all too dear;
With that he called the tailor lown.
He was a wight of high renown,
And thou art but of low degree;
‘Tis pride that pulls the country down,
Then take thy auld cloak about thee.
Some wine, ho!
‘Fore God, this is a more exquisite song than
Will you hear ‘t again?
No, for I hold him to be unworthy of his place
that does those things. Well, God's above all; and
there be souls must be saved, and there be souls
must not be saved.
It's true, good lieutenant.
For mine own part—no offense to the General,
nor any man of quality—I hope to be saved.
And so do I too, lieutenant.
Ay, but, by your leave, not before me. The
Lieutenant is to be saved before the Ancient. Let's
have no more of this. Let's to our affairs. God
forgive us our sins! Gentlemen, let's look to our
business. Do not think, gentlemen, I am drunk. This
is my ancient, this is my right hand, and this is my
left. I am not drunk now. I can stand well enough,
and I speak well enough.
Why, very well then. You must not think then
that I am drunk.
To th' platform, masters. Come, let's set the watch.