Ayres and dialogues For One, Two, and Three Voyces; To be Sung either to the theorbo-lute or basse-viol |
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The Resolve.
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50
The Resolve.
Ther's no man so worthy of Envy as he,
Drinks Sack and is free;
Can draw down his mind to his present Condition;
And at that ebb can
Shew himself a better man
Then's Enemy at his full tide of Ambition:
H'as a breast so well man'd he fears not the thunder
Of those Bastards of Fame
That have got a Name
By rapine and plunder;
But bravely despiseth
The mock Sun that riseth.
Drinks Sack and is free;
Can draw down his mind to his present Condition;
And at that ebb can
Shew himself a better man
Then's Enemy at his full tide of Ambition:
H'as a breast so well man'd he fears not the thunder
Of those Bastards of Fame
That have got a Name
By rapine and plunder;
But bravely despiseth
The mock Sun that riseth.
Chorus.
He that's quiet within, what need he to care?
Though not worth a Groat, hath the whole World to spare.
51
He's arm'd 'gainst the Chances and Changes of State,
And still meets his Fate
With a conquering Cup of the stourest Canarie;
Drinks healths to the best,
And he wrestles with the rest,
Yet never is foyl'd, lest his liquor miscarry:
His Thoughts are more free then the Bed that he lyes on;
Who puts his Cares to flight
A Prince is o're Night,
And next morning doth rise one;
Let Fates do what they will
He's the self-same man still.
And still meets his Fate
With a conquering Cup of the stourest Canarie;
Drinks healths to the best,
And he wrestles with the rest,
Yet never is foyl'd, lest his liquor miscarry:
His Thoughts are more free then the Bed that he lyes on;
Who puts his Cares to flight
A Prince is o're Night,
And next morning doth rise one;
Let Fates do what they will
He's the self-same man still.
Chorus.—
Scepters have Palsies, and Crowns too are shaking,
He that soundly doth sleep, need not keep others waking.
He that soundly doth sleep, need not keep others waking.
Then give us the Sack, let the Hen-hearted sit
Drink Whey and submit,
His Cucumer-Courage nere does well till beaten;
He Camel-like kneels,
And his burden ne'r feels
Till his Back becomes gall'd, and his Carcase near eaten:
Ha's a spirit so poor that every Knave rides him;
He's soul-less alone,
At best but a Drone,
And no man abides him;
He's a compact of Clay
That will turn any away:
Drink Whey and submit,
His Cucumer-Courage nere does well till beaten;
He Camel-like kneels,
And his burden ne'r feels
Till his Back becomes gall'd, and his Carcase near eaten:
Ha's a spirit so poor that every Knave rides him;
He's soul-less alone,
At best but a Drone,
And no man abides him;
He's a compact of Clay
That will turn any away:
Chorus.—
'Tis Sack and good Company makes the Soul free,
Like the Musique of that there's no Harmonie.
Like the Musique of that there's no Harmonie.
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