Four Bibulous Songs

The moon is full, and so am I ; 
The night is late, the ale was good ; 
And I must go two miles and more 
Along a country road. 

Now what is this that's drawing near ? 
It seems a man, and tall ; 
But where the face should show its white 
I see no white at all. 

Where is his face : or do I see 
The back part of his head, 
And, with his face turned round about, 
He walks this way ? I said. 

He's close at hand, but where's the face ? 
What devil is this I see ? 
I'm glad my body's warm with ale, 
There's trouble here for me. 

I clutch my staff, I make a halt, 
"His blood or mine," said I. 
"Good-night," the black man said to me, 
As he went passing by. 

Good people keep their holy day,
They rest from labour on a Sunday;
But we keep holy every day,
And rest from Monday until Monday.

And yet the noblest work on earth
Is done when beggars do their part:
They work, dear ladies, on the soft 
And tender feelings in your heart.

You interfering ladies, you
That prove your minds enjoy less rest
Than those poor mortals you advise

Ale's no false liar; though his mind 
Has thoughts that are not clear, 
His honest heart speaks boldly out, 
Without reserve or fear. 
Though shaky as that bird the bat, 
In its first flight at night, 
Yet still old Ale will stand his ground 
For either wrong or right. 
Though Ale is poor, he's no man's slave, 
He'll neither fawn nor lick; 
He'd clap proud monarchs on the back, 
And call them Ned or Dick. 
They're taxing Ale again, I hear, 
A penny more the can : 
They're taxing poor old Ale again, 
The only honest man.