A Bonne! God Wote Lyrics

A bonne, God wote!
Stickes in my throate,
Without I have a draught
Of cornie aile,
Nappy and staile,
My lyffe lyes in great wauste.
Some ayle or beare,
Gentill butlere,
Some lycourse thou hus showe,
Such as you mashe,
Our throtes to washe,
The best were that yow brew.

Saint, master, and knight,
That saint Mault hight,
Were prest betwen two stones;
That swet humour
Of his lycoure
Would make us sing at once.
Mr. Wortley,
I dar well say,
I tell you as I thinke,
Would not, I say,
Byd hus this day,
But that we shuld have drink.

His men so tall
Walkes up his hall,
With many a comly dishe;
Of his good meat
I cannot eate,
Without a drink i-wysse;
Now gyve hus drink,
And let cat wynke,
I tell you all at once,
Yt stickes so sore,
I may sing nomore,
Tyll I have droken once.