Tun'd to the highest key of ancient Rome,
Returning all her inusic with litr own,
In whom with Nature, study cluin'd a part,
And vet who to himselfe ow'd all his art.
Here Ives Ben Johnson, every age will look
With sorrow here, with wonder on his book.

O.V MR. EDY. SPENCER,

The more to procure me, then he did adjure me

If the ale I dranke last were nappy and stale, To do it its right, and stir up my sprite,

And fall to commend a &c.
Quoth I, “ To commend it I dare pot begin,

Lest therein my credit might happen to faile; For many men now do count it a sin,

But once to look toward a &c. “ Yet I care not a pin, for I see no such sin,

Nor any thing else my courage to quaile: For, this we do find, that take it in kind,

Much vertue there is in a &c. “ And I mean not to taste, though thereby much

grac't, Nor the merry-go-down without pull or bale, Perfuming the throat, when the stomack's afloat,

With the fragrant sweet seut of a &c.

FAMOUS POET.

Ar Delphos' shrine, one did a doubt propound,

Which by th' oracle must be released, Whether of poets were the best renown'd:

Those that survive, or they that are deceased ? The gods made answer by divine suggestion, While Spencer is alive, it is no question.

ON MICHAEL DRAYTON,

BURIED IN WESTMINSTER. Doe, pious marble, let thy readers know, What ihey, and what their children ow

To Drayton's sacred name, whose dust

We recommend unto thy trust. Protect his memory, preserve his story, And a lasting monument of his glory;

And when thy ruines shall disclaime

To be the treasury of his name,
His name which cannot fade, shall be
An everlasting inonument to thee.

« Nor yet the delight that comes to the sight,

To see how it fowers and mantles in graile, As greene as a leeke, with a smile in the cheeke,

The true orient colour of a &c. “ But I meane the mind, and the good it doth find;

Not only the body, so feeble and fraile : Por body and soule may blesse the black bowle,

Since both are beholden to a &c. " Por, when heavinesse the mind doth oppresse,

And sorrow and griefe the heart do assaile, No remedy quicker than to take off your liquor,

and to wash away cares with a &c. “ The widow that buried her husband of late,

Will soon have forgotten to weep and to waile, And thinke ev'ry day twaine, till she marry againe,

If she read the contents of a &c.

OV THE TOMBES IN WESTMINSTER.
MORTALITY, behold, and feare,
What a change of Besh is here!
Thinke how many royall bones
Sleep within these heap of stones;
Here they lye, had realmes, and lands,
Who now want strength to stir their hands;
Where from their pulpits seal'd with dust,
They preach, “ In greatnesse is no trust."
Here's an acre sown indeed,
With the richest, royall'st reed,
That the earth did e're suck in,
Since the first man dy'd for sin :
Here the bones of birth have cry'd,
“ Though gods they were, as dien they dy'd :"
Here are sands, ignoble things,
Dropt from the ruin'd sides of kings.

Here's a world of pomp and state
Buried in dust, once dead by fate

“ It is like a belly-blast to a cold heart,

And warms, and engenders the spirits vitale, To keep them from domage, all sp'rits owe their

To the sp'rite of the buttery, a &c. (honiage “ And down to the legs the vertue doth go,

And to a bad foot-man is as good as a saile ; When it fils the veines, and makes light the braines,

No lackey so nimble as a &c. “ The naked complains not for want of a coat,

Nor on the cold weather will once turne his taile; All the way as he goes he cuts the wind with his

If he be but well wrapt in a &c. [pose, “ The hungry man takes no thought for his meat,

Tho’his stomach would brook a ten-penny naile ; He quite forgets bunger, thinks on it no longer,

If he touch but the sparkes of a &c.
The poor man will praise it, so hath he good cause,
That all the yeare eats neither partridge nor

quaile,
But sets up bis rest, and makes up his feast

With a crust of brown bread, and a &c. “ The shepheard, the sower, the thresher, the mower,

(flaile, The one with his scyth, the other with his Take them out by the poll, on the perill of my sol,

All will hold up their bands to a &c.

THE EX-ALE-TATION OF ALE. Nor drunken, nor sober, but neighbour to both,

I met with a friend in Ales-bury vale;
He saw by my face, that I was in the case.

To speake no great harme of a pot of good ala. Then did he me greet, and said, “ Since we meet"

(And he put me in mind of the name of the dale) " For Ales-bury's sake some paines I would take,

And not bury-the praise of a pot of good ale."

"And sure it will make a man suddenly wise,

E're while was scarce able to tell a right tale: It will open his jaw, he will tell you the law, As made a right bencher of a &c.

"Or he that will make a bargaine to gaine,

In buying or setting his goods forth to sale,
Must not plod in the mire, but sit by the fire,
And scale up his match with a &c.
"But for sobernesse needs must I confesse,

The matter goes hard and few do prevaile
Not to go too deep, but temper to keep,

Such is the attractive of a &c.

"But here's an amends, which will make all friends, And ever doth tend to the best availe;

If you take it too deep, it will make you but sleep; So comes no great harme of a &c.

"If (reeling) they happen to fall to the ground,

The fall is not great, they may hold by the raile : If into the water, they cannot be drown'd, For that gift is given to a &c.

"If drinking about they chance to fall out,

Feare not the alarm, though flesh be but fraile, It will prove but some blows, or at most a blondy And friends againe straight with a &c. [nose,

"And physic will favour ale as it is bound,
And be against beere both tooth and naile:
They send up and down, all over the town,
To get for their patients a &c.
"Their ale-berries, cawdles, and possets each one,
And syllabubs made at the milking-paile,
Although they be many, beere comes not in any,
But all are composed with a &c.

"And in very deed the hop's but a weed,

Brought o're against law, and here set to sale: Would the law were renew'd, and no inore beere But all good men betake them to a &c. [biew'd, "The law, that will take it under her wing:

For, at every law-day, or moot of the hale, One is sworne to serve our soveraigue the king, In the ancient office of a conner of ale. "There's never a lord of mannor or of town, By strand or by land, by hill or by dale, But thinks it a franchise, and a flow'r of the crown, To hold the assize of a &c.

"And though there lie writs, from the courts paramount,

To stay the proceedings of the courts paravaile; Law favours it so, you may come, you may go, There lies no prohibition to a &c.

"They talke much of state both early and late, But if Gascoign and Spain their wine should but No remedy then, with us Englishmen,

"The north they will praise it, and praise it with passion,

Where every river gives name to a dale: There men are yet living that are of th' old fashion, No nectar they know but a &c.

"The Picts and the Scots for ale were at lots,

So high was the skill, and so kept under scale: The Picts were undone, slain each mother's son, For not teaching the Scots to make hether eale.

"But hither or thither, it skils not much whether:
For drinke must be had, men live not by keale,
Nor by havor bancocks, nor by havor-jannocks,
The thing the Scots live on is a &c.

"Now, if you will say it, I will not denay it,
That many a man it brings to his bale:
Yet what fairer end can one wish to his friend,
Than to die by the part of a &c.

"Yet let not the innocent beare any blame,

It is their own doings to breake o're the pale : And neither the malt, nor the good wife in fault, If any be potted with a &c.

They tell whom it kills, but say not a word, How many a man liveth both sound and hale, Though he drinke no bcere any day in the yeare, By the radicall humour of a &c.

"But, to speake of killing, that om I not willing;
For that, in a manner, were but to raile:
But beere hath its name, 'cause it brings to the
Therefore well-fare, say I, to a &c. [biere,

"Too many (I wis) with their deaths proved this,
And therefore (if ancient records do not faile)
He that first brew'd the hop was rewarded with a
rope,

And found his beere far more bitter than ale.

"O ale ab olendo! thou liquor of life!

That I had but a mouth as big as a whale! For mine is too little to touch the least tittle That belongs to the praise of a &c. "Thus, I trow, some vertues I have marked you And never a vice in all this long traile, [out, But that after the pot there cometh a shot, And that's th' only blot of a &c."

With that my friend said, "That blot will I beare,

You have done very well, it is time to strike saile, Wee'l have six pots more, tho' I die on the score, To make all this good of a pot of good ale."

THE GOOD FELLOW.

But the state it must stand by a &c. "And they that sit by it are good men and quiet, No dangerous plotters in the common-weale Of treason and murder: for they never go further Than to call for, and pay for, a &c.

"To the praise of Gambrivius, that good British king,

[tale)

That devis'd for his nation (by the Welshmen's Seventeen hundred yeares before Christ did spring, The happy invention of a &c.

Of that transcendent ale we dranke of last?
To make her drinke withall? It made me lose
What wild ingredient did the woman chose
My wit before I quencht my thirst; there came
Such whimsies in my braine, and such a flam.e
Of fiery drunkennesse had sing'd my nose,
My beard shrunke in for feare: there were of those
That tooke me for a comet, some afar
Distant remote, thought me a blazing star:
The Earth, methought, just as it was, it went
Round in a wheeling course of merriment;

My head was ever drooping, and my nose
Offering to be a suiter to my toes;

My pock-hole face, they say, appear'd to some
Just like a dry and burning honey-combe;
My tongue did swim in ale, and joy'd to boast
It selfe a greater seaman than the toast;
My mouth was grown awry, as if it were
Lab'rig to reach the whisper in mine eare;
My guts were mines of sulphur, and my set
Of parched teeth struck fire as they met:
Nay, when I pist, my urine was so hot,
It burnt a hole quite through the chamber-pot:
Each brewer that I met I kiss'd, and made
Suit to be bound apprentice to the trade:
One did approve the motion, when he saw,
That my own legs could my indentures draw.
Well, sir, I grew starke mad, as you may see
By this adventure upon poetry.
You easily may guesse, I am not quite
Grown sober yet, by these weak lines I write :
Onely I do't for this, to let you see,
Whos'ere paid for the ale, l'in sure't paid me.

THE VERTUE OF SACK.

FETCH Me Ben Johnson's scull, and fill't with sack,
Rich as the same he drank, when the whole pack
Of jolly sisters pledg`d, and did agree,

It was no sin to be as drunk as he :
If there be any weaknesse in the wine,
There's vertue in the cup to make't divine;
This muddy drench of ale docs taste too much
Of earth, the malt retaines a scurvy touch
Of the dull hand that sows it; and I feare
There's heresie in hops; give blockheads beere,
And silly ignoramus, such as think
There's powder-treason in all Spanish drink,
Call sack an idoll: we will kisse the cup,
For feare the conventicle be blown up
With superstition: away with brew-house alms,
Whose best mirth is six shillings beere and qualis.
Let me rejoice in sprightly sack, that can
Create a braine even in an empty pan.
Canary! it's thou that dost inspire
And actuate the soule with heavenly fire.
Thou that sublim'st the genius-making wit,
Scorne earth, and such as love or live by it.
Thou mak'st us lords of regions large and faire,
Whilst our conceits build castles in the aire:
Since fire, earth, aire, thus thy inferiours be,
Henceforth Ple know no element but thee.
Thou precious elixar of all grapes,

Welcome, by thee my Muse begins her scapes,
Such is the worth of sack; I am (me thinks)
In the exchequer now: hark, how it chinks!
And do esteeme my venerable selfe
As brave a fellow, as if all the pelfe

Were sure mine own, and I have thought a way
Already how to spend it: I would pay
No debts, but fairly empty every trunk,
And change the gold for sack to keep me drunk;
And so by consequence, till rich Spaine's wine
Being in my crown, the Indies too were mine:
And when my brains are once afoot, (Heaven bless
I think my selfe a better man than Croesus. [us!)
And now I do conceit my selfe a judge,
And coughing, laugh to see my clients trudge
After my lordship's coach unto the hall

For justice, and am full of law withall,

And do become the bench as well as he
That fled long since for want of honesty:
But I'le be judge no longer, though in jest,
For fear I should be talk'd with, like the rest,
When I am sober. Who can choose but think
Me wise, that am so wary in my drink?
Oh, admirable sack! here's dainty sport,
I am come back from Westminster to court,
And am grown young againe; my ptisic now
Hath left me, and my judge's graver brow
Is smooth'd; and I turn'd amorous as May,
When she invites young lovers forth to play
Upon her flow'ry bosome: I could win
A vestall now, or tempt a queen to sin.
Oh, for a score of queens! you'd laugh to see
How they would strive which first should ravish me:
Three goddesses were nothing: sack has tipt
My tongue with charmes like those which Paris sipt
From Venus, when she taught him how to kisse
Faire Hellen, and invite a fairer blisse:
Mine is Canary-rhetoric, that alone
Would turne Diana to a burning stone;
Stone with amazement, burning with love's fire,
Hard to the touch, but short in her desire.
Inestimable sack! thou mak'st us rich,
Wise, amorous, any thing: I have an itch
To t'other cup, and that perchance will make
Me valiant too, and quarrell for thy sake.
If I be once inflam'd against thy foes,

[prose,

That would preach down thy worth in small-beere
I shall do miracles as bad, or worse,
As he that gave the king an hundred horse:
T'other odde cup, and I shall be prepar'd
To snatch at stars, and pluck down a reward
With mine own hands from Jove upon their backs,
That are, or Charles his enemies, or sack's:
Let it be full, if I do chance to spill
Over my standish by the way, I will,
Dipping in this diviner inke my pen,
Write my selfe sober, and fall to't agen.

CANTO,

IN THE PRAISE OF SACK.

LISTEN all, I pray,

To the words I have to say, In memory sure insert 'um:

Rich wines do us raise To the honour of baies, Quem non fecere disertum? Of all the juice

Which the gods produce, Sack shall be preferr'd before them; 'Tis sack that shall

Create us all,

Mars, Bacchus, Apollo, virorum.

We abandon all ale,

And beere that is stale,
Rosa-solis, and damnable hum:
But we will crack
In the praise of sack,
'Gainst omne quod exit in um,
This is the wine,

Which, in former time,
Each wise one of the magi
Was wont to arouse
In a frolick bouse,

Recubans sub tegmine fagi.

Who ne'er failes to drink
All cleare from the brink,
With a smooth and even swallow,
I'le offer at his shrine,
And call it divine,
Et erit mihi magnus Apollo.

He that drinks still,

And never hath his fill, Hath a passage like a conduit, The sack doth inspire

In rapture and fire,

Sic æther æthera fundit.

When you merrily quaffe,
If any do off,

And then from you needs will passe ye,
Give their nose a twitch,

And kick them in the britch,

Nam componuntur ab asse.

I have told you plain,

And tell you again,

Be he furious as Orlando,

He is an asse

That from hence doth passe, Nisi bibit ab ostia stando.

THE

ANSWER OF ALE TO THE CHALLENGE OF SACK.

COME, all you brave wights, ́

That are dubbed ale-knights,

Now set out yourselves in sight:

And let them that crack

In the praises of sack,

Know malt is of mickle might,

Though sack they define

To boly divine,

Yet it is but naturall liquor:

Ale bath for its part

An addition of art,

To make it drinke thinner or thicker.

Sack's fiery fume

Doth waste and consume

Men's humidum radicale;

It scaldeth their livers,

It breeds burning feavers,

Proves vinum veneaum reale.

But history gathers,

From aged forefathers,

That ale's the true liquor of life:

Men liv'd long in health,

And preserved their wealth,

Whil'st barley-broth only was rife.

Sack quickly ascends,

And suddenly ends

What company came for at first:

And that which yet worse is,

It empties men's purses

Before it balfe quencheth their thirst.

Ale is not so costly,

Although that the most lye

Too long by the oyle of barley;

Yet may they part late

At a reasonable rate,

Though they came in the morning early.