Song IV. A Mock-Song

Hang up Mars
And his wars,
Give us drink,
We'l tipple my Lads together;
Those are slaves,
Fools and knaves,
That have chink,
And must pay,
For what they say,
Do, or think,
Good fellows accompt for neither;
Be we round, be we square,
We are happier than they're
Whose dignity works their ruin:
He that well the bowl rears,
Can baffle his cares,
And a fig for death or undoing.