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 Sing me a song of merry glee,

And Bacchus fill the bowl.

1. Then here's to thee: 2. And thou to me

And every thirsty soul.

Nor Care nor Sorrow e'er paid debt,

Nor never shall do mine;

I have no cradle going yet,

Not I, by this good wine.

No wife at home to send for me,

No hogs are in my ground,

No suit in law to pay a fee,

Then round, old Jocky, round.

Shear sheep that have them, cry we still,

But see that no man 'scape

To drink of the sherry.

That makes us so merry,

And plump as the lusty grape.

, welcome, do I sing,

Far more welcome than the spring;

He that parteth from you never

Shall enjoy a spring for ever.

Love, that to the voice is near

Breaking from your iv'ry pale,

Need not walk abroad to hear

The delightful nightingale.

Welcome, welcome, then I sing,

Far more welcome than the spring;

He that parteth from you never

Shall enjoy a spring for ever.