Song in a siege

Fil, fill the goblet full with sack!
I mean our tall black-jerkin Jack,
Whose hide is proofe 'gainst rabble-Rout,
And will keep all ill weathers out.
What though our plate be coin'd and spent?
Our faces next we'l send to th' mint:
And 'fore wee'l basely yield the town,
Sack it our selves and drink it down.

Accurst be he doth talk or think
Of treating, or denies to drink,
Such drie hopsucking narrow souls
Taste not the freedome of our bowles.
They onely are besieg'd, whilst we
By drinking purchase libertie.
Wine doth enlarge, and ease our minds,
Who freely drinks no thraldome finds.

Let's drink then as we us'd to fight,
As long as we can stand, in spight
Of Foe or Fortune! who can tel?
Shee with our cups again may swell;
Hee neither dares to die or fight,
Whom harmless fears from healths affright:
Then let us drink our sorrows down,
And our selves up to keep the town.