The Traveler's Tithe

A rowdy medieval tavern song

Lyrics:

Step you in from mud and mire, Shut the door against the cold! Trade the wind for tavern fire, Trade your sorrows for the gold. You’ve a coat of heavy wool, And a purse that’s hanging low, We’ve a cup that’s never full, And a fire that’s all aglow!

DRINK! and welcome! STOMP! the floor! LEAVE your troubles AT the door! POUR the cider! DRAIN the tun! NOW the revel HAS begun!

Sit you down, my noble stray, Near the wench with wandering eyes. She will kiss the dust away, While the clever magpie flies! Do not heed the gambler’s sleeve, Do not fear the dicing-cup, Fools were only born to grieve, Wise men drink the silver up!

DRINK! and welcome! STOMP! the floor! LEAVE your troubles AT the door! POUR the cider! DRAIN the tun! NOW the revel HAS begun!

Who will quaff? WE WILL QUAFF!
Who will laugh? WE WILL LAUGH!
Who will pay the cellar-man?
THE GUEST WILL FILL THE ROARING CAN!

The Abbot preaches fast and lean, The King he sits upon a bone, But here the beggar is the Queen, And the barrel is the throne! So let the coins like winter rain, Tumble down upon the wood, To wash away the road-born pain, As a Christian pilgrim should!

DRINK! DRINK! DRINK!