The Cobbler’s Song in the King’s
Cellar
Come let us drink the other pot,
Our sorrows to confound;
We’ll laugh and sing before the king,
So let his health go round.
For I am as bold as bold can be
No cobbler e’er was ruder;
Then here, good fellow, here’s to thee,
(Remembering Harry Tudor.)
When I’m at work within my stall,
Upon him I will think;
His kindness I to mind will call,
Whene’er I eat or drink.
His kindness was to me so great,
The like was never known,
His kindness I shall still repeat,
And so shall my wife Joan.
I’ll laugh when I sit in my stall,
And merrily will sing;
That I with my poor last and awl,
Am fellow with the king.
But it is more I must confess,
Than I at first did know;
But Harry Tudor, ne’ertheless,
Resolves it shall be so.
And now farewell unto Whitehall,
I homeward must retire;
To sing and whistle in my stall,
My Joan will me desire.
I do but think how she shall laugh,
When she hears of this thing,
That he that drank her nut-brown ale,
Was England’s Royal King.