Some more:

THE MALT'S COME DOWN
(Anon)
Chorus:
Mault's come downe, mault's come downe
From an old Angell to a French Crown

There's never a maide in all this Towne
But well she knowes that Mault's come downe

The greatest Drunkards in the Towne
Are very glad that Mault's come downe

(from Thomas, Pocket Book)


HEY JOHN BARLEYCORN
(Anon)
Chorus:
Hey John Barleycorn, Ho John Barleycorn
Old and young his praise is sung
John Barleycorn

John Barleycorn is a hero bold
As any in the land
His fame has stood for ages good
And shall forever stand
The whole wide world respects him
No matter friend or foe
And where they be that makes too free
He's sure to lay them low

To see him in his pride of growth
His robes are rich and green
His head is speared with goodly beard
Fit nigh to serve a Queen
And when the harvest time comes round
And John is stricken down
He'll use his blood for England's good
And Englishmens' renown

The lord in courtly castle
The squire in stately hall
The great of name, of birth and fame
On John for succour call
He bids the troubled heart rejoice
Gives warmth to Nature's call
Makes weak men strong and old men young
And all men brave and bold


The next one needs some correction, so please help!
GOOD ALE FOR MY MONEY
(Laurence Price)

Be merry my friends and list awhile unto a merry jest
It may from you produce a smile when you hear it expressed
It's of a young man lately married which was a boon good fellow
This song in his head he always carried when drink had made him mellow

I can't go home I won't go home, it's lonely (?) barley
I'll tarry all night for my delight, go home in the morning early

No tapster stout nor vintner fine, said he, shall ever get
One drought from out this purse of mine to pay his master's debt
Why should I deal with sharpened rocks that seek poor gulls to cozen
To give twelve pence for a quart of wine available by the dozen

This sort of wine breaks up the brain and raps out hells and curses
It makes men part with heavy heart but light it makes their purses
All Rhenish wine or Muscadine, sweet Malmsey is too fulsome
No, give me a cup of barley broth for that is very wholesome

I can't go home ...

Some say Mithaglin(?) bears the name with perry(?) and sweet cider
It'll bring the body out of frame and make the belly wider
Which to prevent I am content with ale that's good and nappy
And when at last I've had enough I'll think myself most happy

All sorts of men when they do meet, both trade and occupation
With courtesy each other greet and kind humiliation
A good coal fire is their desire, whereby to sit and parley
They'll drink their ale and tell a tale and go home in the morning early

I can't go home ...

But you domineering swaggering blades and cavaliers that flashes
That throws the jugs against the walls and breaks in pieces glasses
When betters' round cannot be found they will in merriment
Drink ale and beer and stuff all care and sing with one consent

I can't go home ...