And think because they’re from abroad, that we must like them well,
And of their wholesome qualities they tell a wondrous tale;
But sour or sweet, they cannot beat a glass of old English Ale.
D’ye think my eye would be as bright, my heart as light and gay,
If I and “old John Barleycorn” did not shake hands each day?
No, no; and though teetotalers at malt and hop may rail
At them I’ll laugh and gaily quaff of old English Ale.