In a humour I was of late,
As many good fellows may be;
To think of no matters of state,
But to seek for good company.
My hostess was sick of the mumps,
The maid was ill at her ease,
The tapster drunk in his dumps;
They're all of one disease,
That e'er should suit my mind
So I travelled up and down
No company could I find;
Till I came to the sight of The Crown.

Chorus (after each verse):

|: Says Old Sir Simon the King :|
With his ale-drop't hose and his malmsey nose
Sing hey-ding-ding

If a Puritan skinker do cry,
“Dear Brother it is a sin,
To drink if you be dry.”
Then straight this tale I begin.
A Puritan lay down his can
And took up a foaming jug
And there he played the man
As long as he could tug.
And when that he was spied
Did ever he swear or rail?
“No truly, dear brother,” he cried,
“Indeed all flesh is frail.”

If a man should be drunk tonight
And laid in his grave tomorrow
Would you or any man say
That he died of care or sorrow?
Hang up all sorrow and care
`Tis able to kill a cat
And he that will drink all night
Is never afraid of that!
For drinking will make a man quaff,
And quaffing will make a man sing;
Singing will make a man laugh,
And laughter long life doth bring