Come let us be frolic and call for our tipple

Come let us be frolic and call for our tipple,
Our pockets we'll empty and our veins we will fill.
For sack we'll not lack, nor will we be gripple
But carouse in despite of the two topped hill. Chorus:

Parnassus shall pass us
Nor will we enquire
For the font of the Muses,
'Tis sack we desire.

Let the Frenchman delight in his white wine and red;
His vin de Paris is but pitiful geer.
'Tis the brave Spanish liquor that brings us to bed,
It charms all our senses and frees us from fear. Chorus:

We'll banish the Rhenish,
White Metheglin and brown,
'Tis sack we do love,
So let it go down.
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