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.