THE Courtiers Health; OR The merry BOYES of the TIMES

He that loves Sack, doth nothing lack,
If he but Loyal be,
He that denyes Bacchus supplyes
Shows meere Hypocrisie.
To a new Tune, Come Boyes fill us a Bumper, Or My Lodging is on the Cold ground.
[figure]

Here she stands and fills it out amain,
Says they let's have the 'tother Bout agan.
COme boyes fill us a Bumper,
we'l make the Nation Roare,
She's grown sick of a Rumper
that sticks on the old score.
Pox on Phanatticks rout 'um,
they thirst for our blood,
We'l Taxes raise without 'um,
and drink for the Nations good.
Fill the Pottles and Gallons
and bring the Hogshead in,
We'l begin with a Tallen
a brimmer to the KING.
Round around, fill a fresh one,
let no man bawk his Wine,
We'l drink to the next in Succession,
and keep it in the Right Line,
Bring us ten thousand glasses,
the more we drink we'r a dry,
We mind not the beautiful Lasses,
whose Conquest lyes all in the eye.
Charge the Pottles and Gallons
and bring the Hogshead in,
We'l begin with a Tallen
a brimmer to the KING
VVE Boyes are truly Loyal,
for Charles we'l venture all,
We know his blood is Royal,
his Name shall never fall.
But those that seek his ruine
may chance to dye before him,
While we that Sack are woeing,
for ever will adore him;
Fill the Pottles and Gallons
and bring the Hogshead in,
We'l begin with a Tallen
a Brimmer to the KING,
I hate those strange dissenters
that strives to bawk a glass,
He that at all Adventures
will see what comes to pass:
And let the Popish Faction
disturb us if they can,
They ne'r shall breed distraction
in a true hearted man.
Fill the Pottles and Gallons
and bring the Hogshead in,
We'l begin with a Tallen
a Brimmer to the KING.
Let the Phanatticks grumble
to see things cross their grain,
We'l make them now more humble
or ease them of their pain:
They shall drink Sack amain too
as else they shall be choak't,
We'l tell 'um 'tis in vain too
for us to be provok't.
Fill the Pottles and Gallons
and bring the Hogshead in,
We'l begin with a Tallen
a Brimmer to the KING.
He that denyes the Brimmer
shall banish't be in this Isle,
And we will look more grimmer
till he begins to smile:
We'l drown'd him in Canary
and make him all our own,
And when his Heart is merry
he'l drink to Charles in's Throne;
Fill the Pottles and Gallons
and bring the Hogshead in,
We'l begin with a Tallen
a Brimmer to the KING.
Quakers and Annabaptist
we'l sink them in a glass,
He deals most plain and flattest
that sayes he loves a Lass:
Then tumble down Canary
and let your brains go round,
For he that won't be merry
he can't at heart be sound;
Fill the Pottles and Gallons
and bring the Hogshead in,
We'l begin with a Tallen
a Brimmer to the KING.

Printed for P. Brooksby at the Golden Ball in West-Smithfieldâ–ª

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