The song at the beginning of the second act exists in an older and
better version, which was printed by Dyce (from a Ms. in his own
possession) in his edition of Skelton's _Works_, Vol. I, p. vii. It
is not likely that the date of the composition is much older than the
middle of the sixteenth century, and it may possibly be later. The
following copy is taken from Dyce, but the punctuation and the capitals
have been adjusted in accordance with the rules elsewhere adopted in
the present work.
Backe and syde goo bare, goo bare;
Bothe hande and fote goo colde;
But, belly, God sende the good ale inoughe,
Whether hyt be newe or olde.
But yf that I maye have, trwly,
Goode ale my belly full,
I shall looke lyke one (by swete sainte Johnn)
Were shoron agaynste the woole.
Thowthe I goo bare, take ye no care,
I am nothynge colde.
I stuffe my skynne so full within
Of joly good ale and olde.
I cannot eate but lytyll meate;
My stomacke ys not goode;
But sure I thyncke that I cowde dryncke
With hym that werythe an hoode.
Dryncke ys my lyfe; although my wyfe
Some tyme do chyde and scolde,
Yete spare I not to plye the potte
Of joly goode ale and olde.
Backe and syde, etc.
I love no roste but a browne toste,
Or a crabbe in the fyer;
A lytyll breade shall do me steade,
Mooche breade I never desyer.
Nor froste, nor snowe, nor wynde, I trow,
Canne hurte me yf hyt wolde;
I am so wrapped within, and lapped
With joly goode ale and olde.
Backe and syde, etc.
I care ryte noughte, I take no thowte
For clothes to kepe me warme;
Have I goode dryncke, I surely thyncke
Nothyng can do me harme.
For trwly than I feare no man,
Be he never so bolde,
When I am armed, and throwly warmed
With joly good ale and olde.
Backe and syde, etc.
But nowe and than I curse and banne;
They make ther ale so small!
God geve them care, and evill to fare!
They strye the malte and all.
Soche pevisshe pewe, I tell yowe trwe,
Not for a crowne of golde
There commethe one syppe within my lyppe,
Whether hyt be newe or olde.
Backe and syde, etc.
Good ale and stronge makethe me amonge
Full joconde and full lyte,
That ofte I slepe, and take no kepe
From mornynge untyll nyte.
Then starte I uppe, and fle to the cuppe;
The ryte waye on I holde.
My thurste to staunche I fyll my paunche
With joly goode ale and olde.
Backe and syde, etc.
And Kytte, my wyfe, that as her lyfe
Lovethe well good ale to seke,
Full ofte drynkythe she that ye maye se
The teares ronne downe her cheke.
Then dothe she troule to me the bolle
As a goode malte-worme sholde,
And say, "Swete harte, I have take my parte
Of joly goode ale and olde."
Backe and syde, etc.
They that do dryncke tylle they nodde and wyncke,
Even as good fellowes shulde do,
They shall notte mysse to have the blysse
That good ale hathe browghte them to.
And all poore soules that skoure blacke bolles,
And them hath lustely trowlde,
God save the lyves of them and ther wyves,
Wether they be yonge or olde!
Backe and syde, etc.
_John Lyly_