Oh, froth me a flagon of English ale,
Stout and old as amber pale,
Which heart and head will alike assail,
Ale, ale be mine.
Or brew me a pottle of sturdy sack,
Sherries and spice with a toast at its back,
And need shall be none to bid me attack
That drink divine.
Or brew me a pottle of sturdy sack,
And need shall be none to bid me attack,
That drink divine!
That drink divine!
Still I prefer a flagon of ale, ha! ha!
Stout and old, ha! ha! and as amber pale, ha! ha!
Which head and heart will alike assail.
Ale, ale be mine. Ale, ale,
Fine old English ale, ale, ale,
Fine old English ale! Ale be mine!
Your Gaul may tipple his thin, thin wine,
And pate of its hue and its fragrance fine,
Shall never a drop pass throat of mine again.
His claret is meagre, but let that pass;
I can't say much for his hypocrass,
And never more will I fill my glass
With cold champaign,
His claret is meagre (but let that pass),
And never more will I fill my glass
With cold, with cold champaign,
With cold champaign,
For, oh, I prefer a flagon of ale, ha! ha!
Stout and old, ha! ha! and as amber pale, ha! ha!
Which heart and head will alike assail. Ale, ale be mine
Ale, ale, fine old English ale, ale, ale,
Fine old English ale be mine.
Stout and old as amber pale,
Which heart and head will alike assail,
Ale, ale be mine.
Or brew me a pottle of sturdy sack,
Sherries and spice with a toast at its back,
And need shall be none to bid me attack
That drink divine.
Or brew me a pottle of sturdy sack,
And need shall be none to bid me attack,
That drink divine!
That drink divine!
Still I prefer a flagon of ale, ha! ha!
Stout and old, ha! ha! and as amber pale, ha! ha!
Which head and heart will alike assail.
Ale, ale be mine. Ale, ale,
Fine old English ale, ale, ale,
Fine old English ale! Ale be mine!
Your Gaul may tipple his thin, thin wine,
And pate of its hue and its fragrance fine,
Shall never a drop pass throat of mine again.
His claret is meagre, but let that pass;
I can't say much for his hypocrass,
And never more will I fill my glass
With cold champaign,
His claret is meagre (but let that pass),
And never more will I fill my glass
With cold, with cold champaign,
With cold champaign,
For, oh, I prefer a flagon of ale, ha! ha!
Stout and old, ha! ha! and as amber pale, ha! ha!
Which heart and head will alike assail. Ale, ale be mine
Ale, ale, fine old English ale, ale, ale,
Fine old English ale be mine.