Drinking Song

Come, landlord, fill the flowing bowl

Until it doth run over;

For to-night we'll merry be,

To-morrow we'll be sober.

The man who drinketh small beer

And goes to bed quite sober,

Fades as the leaves do fade

That drop off in October.

But he who drinks just what he likes

And getteth half-seas over,

Will live until he dies perhaps,

And then lie down in clover.

The man who kisses a pretty girl

And goes and tells his mother,

Ought to have his lips cut off,

And never kiss another.