Come hither my jovall Blades,
and listen unto my Song,
You that of severall Trades,
have borne the burthen long:
So long as the Patentees,
in England kept on foot,
Some Knaves got by there feese,
the Devill and all to boote:
O fie upon this Excise,
’tis pitty that ever ’twas paid,
It makes good Licqour to rise,
and pulls downe many a Trade.

[?] it first began,
[?]ce to crosse the Seas,
[?] English man,
[?]en the same disease:
[?]egot it at first,
[?] then to maintaine,
[?] an old Duch woman nurst,
[?]s’t in the Cradle of Spaine,
O fie, &c.

[?] Companion for Warre,
[?]lls a whole Kingdom with care,
[?]owes whereever they are,
[?]ar a great part for their share:
[?] never should grieve me much,
[?]hough more Excises were,
The thing I onely grutch,
is that of Ale and Beere:
I never would vex nor pine,
whatever you say or thinke,
To dubble the price of Wine,
for that I seldome drink.
But fie, &c.

However it came to passe,
that drinke is growne so deare,
The Tradesman is the Asse,
which must the burthen beare,
What though the Brewer pay,
mine Hoast payes him againe,
Whilst that good Fellowes they,
do all the losse sustaine:
O fie, &c.

The Blacksmith which doth get,
his living through the fire,
And being throughly het,
to drinke heel’ then desire,
He calls to another man,
with him to spend his groat,
For’t was not a peny Can,
could squench the sparke in’s throat.
O fie, &c.

The Shoomaker and the Glover,
the Taylor and the Weaver,
When they meet one another,
they go to drinke together:
But for the od Farthing losse,
the Taylor deepely swore,
Hee’d ne’re layes his Leggs acrosse,
to worke for Ale-wives more,
O fie, &c.

If any Good Fellow doth want,
and calls for a pot on trust,
Now Charity’s growne so scant,
that out of the door he thrust:
The Brewer he must be paid,
the Hostis she will not score,
Yet drinke is smaller made,
then’t was is times before,
O fie, &c.

The Tinker which doth ring,
his Kettle through the Towne,
He merrily us’d to sing,
the Tune of Malt’s come downe,
But what is the meaning of this,
which grieves me at the heart,
To see how good Ale is,
for two pence sold a Quart:
O fie, &c.

No marvell the female Sex,
so much do scould and brawle,
They’le never cease to vex,
tell that good Licqour fall:
I heard an Old Woman to say,
who'd never a Tooth in her head,
See’d liv’d this many a day,
onely with Ale and Bread:
With that she began to weepe,
and sadly thus complaine,
Her pention would never keepe
her, till’th pay day comes againe:
O fie, &c.

Good Fellowes both great and small,
then pray that warres may cease,
That no Excise at all,
may be in the time of peace:
For now to conclude in the end,
and cast up the reckoning eaven,
Considering what they spend,
they loose a full pot in seven:
O fie, &c.