Ballad and Orison (for Master Cotard’s Soul)

Noah, that first the vine planted;
Lot, too, that in the grot drank high,
* * * * *
* * * * *
* * * * *
Architriclinus, learned in the bowl,
I pray you all three to set in the sky
Good Master Cotard, honest soul.

He was of your lineage born and bred;
He drank of the best and dearest ; ay,
Though he'd never a stiver to stand him in stead,
The best of all topers he was : for why,
Never good liquor found him shy,
None could the pot from his grasp cajole.
Fair Lords, do not suffer in hell to sigh
Good Master Cotard, honest soul.

I've seen him oft, when he went to bed,
Totter for tipple as like to die ;
And once he gat him a bump on the head
' Gainst a butcher's stall, as he staggered by.
Brief, one might question far and nigh
For a better fellow the cup to trow I.
Let him in, if you hear him the wicket try :
Good Master Cotard, honest soul.

Envoi
He scarce could spit, he was always so dry,
And ever ' My throat's like a red-hot coal!"
Parched up with thirst, he was wont to cry ;
Good Master Cotard, honest soul.