The Good Fellows resolution of strong ale,
That cures his nose from looking pale.

Be merry, my Friends, and list a while
Unto a merry jest;
It may from you produce a smile,
When you heare it expressed,—
Of a young man lately married,
Which was a boone good fellow,
This song in his head he alwaies carried
When drink had made him mellow:

I cannot go home, nor I will not go home,
It's long of the oyle of Barley;
I'll tarry all night for my delight,
And go home in the morning early.

No Tapster stout, or Vintner fine,
Quoth he, shall ever get
One groat out of this purse of mine,
To pay his master's debt:
Why should I deal with starking Rookes,
That seeke poor gulls to cozen,
To give twelve pence for a quart of wine?
Of ale 'twill buy a dozen.
I cannot go home, etc.

The old renowned Ipocrist
And Rapsie doth excell;
But never any wine could yet
My honour please to swell
The Rhenish wine or muscadine,
Sweet malmsie is too fulsome;
No, give me a cup of Barlie broth,
For that is very wholesome.
I cannot go home, etc.

Hot waters are to me as death,
And soone the head o'erturneth,
And nectar hath so strong a breath;
Canary when it burneth,
It cures no paine, but breaks the braine,
And raps out oaths and curses,
And makes men part with heavy heart—
But light it makes their purses
I cannot go home, etc.

Some say Matheglin beares the name
With Perry and sweet Sider;
'Twill bring the body out of frame,
And reach the belly wider;
Which to prevent, I am content,
With ale that's good and nappy,
And when thereof I have enough
I think myself most happy
I cannot go home, etc.

All sorts of men, when they do meet,
Both trade and occupation,
With curtesie each other greet,
And kinde humiliation;
A good coale fire is their desire,
Whereby to sit and parly;
They'll drink their ale, and tell a tale,
And go home in the morning early.

I cannot go home, nor I will not go home,
It's long of the oyle of Barley;
I'll tarry all night for my delight,
And go home in the morning early.