The ex-ale-tation of ale written by a learned pen.

THE Ex-Ale-tation OF ALE. NOt 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 ſpeak no great harm of a Pot of good Ale. 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 pains I would take, And not bury the praiſe of a pot of good Ale. The more to procure me, then he did adjure me If the Ale I drank laſt were nappy and ſtale, To do it its right, and ſtir up my ſprite, And fall to commend a pot, &c. Quoth I, To commend it I dare not begin, Leſt therein my Credit might happen to fail: For, many men now do count it a ſin, But once to look toward a pot, &c. Yet I care not a pin, For I ſee no ſuch ſin, Nor any thing elſe my courage to quail: For, this we do find, that take it in kind, Much vertlie there is in a pot, &c. And I mean not to taſte, though thereby much geac't, Nor the Merry-go-down without pull or hale, Perfuming the throat, when the ſtomack's afloat, With the Fragrant ſweet ſcent of a pot, &c. Nor yet the delight that comes to the Sight To ſee how it flowers and mantles in graile, As green as a Leeke with a ſmile in the cheek. The true orient colour of a pot, &c. But I mean the Mind, and the good it doth find; Not only the Body ſo feeble and fraile: For, Body and and Soul may bleſt the black bowle, Since both are beholden to a pot, &c. For, when heavineſs the mind doth oppreſs, And ſorrow and grief the heart do aſſaile, No remedy quicker than to take off your Liquor, And to waſh away cares with a pot, &c. The Widow that buried her Husband of late, VVill ſoon have forgotten to weep and to waile, And think every day twain till ſhe marry again, If ſhe read the contents of a pot, &c. It is like a belly-blast to a cold heart, And warms and engenders the ſpirits vitale, To keep them, from domage, all ſpirits owe their homage To the Sp'rite of the butiery a pot, &c. And down to the legs the vertue doth go, And to a bad Foot-man is as good as a ſaile; When it fills the Veins, and makes light the Brains. No Lackey ſo nimble as a pot, &c. The naked complains for want of a coat, Nor on the cold weather will once turn his taile: All the way as he goes, he cuts the wind with his Noſe, If he be but well wrapt in a pot, &c. The hungry man takes no thought for his meat, Though his ſtomack would brook a ten-penny naile; He quite fogets hunger, thinks on i • no longer, If he touch but the ſparks of a pot, &c. The poor man will praiſe it, ſo hath he good cauſe. That all the year eats neither Partridg nor Quailt, But ſets up his reſt, and makes up his Feaſt VVith a cruſt of brown bread, and a pot, &c. The Shepheard, the Sower, the Threſher, the Mower, The one with his Scythe, the other with his Flaile, Take them out by the poll, on the perill of my ſoll, All will hold up their hands to a pot, &c. The Black ſmith whoſe bellows all Summer do blow, VVith the Fire in his Face ſtill, without e're a vaile. Though his throat be full dry, he will tell you no lye, But where you may be ſure of a pot, &c. VVho ever denies it, the Priſoners will praiſe it, That beg at Grate, and lye in the Goale: For, even in their Fetters, they think themſelves better, May they get but a two-penny black pot of Ale. The Beggar whoſe portion is alwaies his prayers, Not having a tatter to hang on his taile, Is as rich in his raggs, as the churle in his bags, If he once but ſhakes hands with a pot, &c. It drives his poverty clean out of mind, Forgetting his brown bread, his wallet and maile; He walks in the houſe like a ſix footed Louſe, If he once be enrich'd with a pot, &c. And he that doth dig in the ditches all day, And wearies himſelf quite at the plough-tail. VVill ſpeak no leſs things than of Queens and of Kings, If he touch but the top of a pot, &c. 'Tis like a VVhetſtone to a blunt wit, And makes a ſupply where Nature doth fail: The dulleſt wit ſoon will look quite through the Moon, If his temples be wet with a pot, &c. Then DICK to his Dearling, full boldly dares ſpeak, Though, before (ſilly fellow) his courage did quail, He gives her the ſmouch, with his hand on his pouch, If he meet by the way with a &c. And it makes the Carter a Courtier ſtraight-way, VVith Rhetorical terms he will tell his tale, VVith Courteſies great ſtore, and his Cap up before, Being ſchool'd but a little with a &c. The Old man, whoſe tongue wags faſter then his teeth, (For old-age by nature doth drivel and drale) VVill frig and will ſting, like a dog in a ſtring, If he warm his cold bloud with a &c. And the good Old Clark, whoſe ſight waxeth dark, And ever he thinketh the print is too ſmall, He will ſee every letter, and ſay Service better, If he glaze but his eyes with a &c. The Cheeks and the Jawes to commend it have cauſe; For where they were late but even wan and pale, They will get them a colour, no Crimſon is fuller, By the true die and tincture of a pot, &c. Mark her Enemies, though they think themſelves wiſe, How meager they look, with how low a waile, How their cheeks do fall, without ſp'rits at all, That alien their minds from a pot, &c. And now that the grains do work in my brains, Me thinks I were able to give by retaile Commodities ſtore, a dozen and more, That flow to Mankind from a pot, &c. The MUSES would muſe any ſhould it miſuſe: For it makes them to ſing like a Nightingale, VVith a lofty trim note, having waſhed their throat VVith the Caballine Spring of a pot, &c. And the Muſician of any condition, It will make him reach to the top of the Scale: It will clear his pipes, and moiſten his lights, If he drink alternatim a pot, &c. The Poet Divine, that cannot reach wine, Becauſe that his mony doth many times faile, VVill hit on the vein to make a good ſtrain, If he be but inſpir'd with a pot, &c. For Ballads ELDERTON never had Peer, How went his wit in them, with how merry a Gale, And with all the Sails up, had he been at the Cup, And waſhed his beard with a pot, &c. And the power of it ſhowes, no whit leſs in Proſe, It will file one's phraſe, and ſet forth his Tale Fill him but a Bowle, it will make his Tongue troul, For flowing ſpeech flows from a pot, &c. And Maſter Philoſopher, if he drink his part, VVill not triſle his time in the huſke or the ſhale, But to go to the kernel by the depth of his Art, To be found in the bottom of a pot, &c. Give a Scholar of OXFORD a pot of Sixteen. And put him to prove that an Ape hath no taile, And ſixteen times better his wit will be ſeen, If you fetch him from Batley a pot, &c. Thus it helps ſpeech and wit, and it hurts not a whit, But rather doth further the Virtues Morale. Then thinks it not much if a little I touch The good moral parts of a pot, &c. To the Church and Religion it is a good Friend, Or elſe our Fore-Fathers their wiſdome did faile, That at every mile, next to the Church ſtile, Sot a conſecrate houſe to a pot, &c. But now, as they ſay, Beer bears it away; The more is the pity if right might prevail: For, with this ſame Beer, came up Hereſie here, The old Catholick drink is a pot, &c. The Churches much ow, as we all do know; For when they be drooping and ready to fall, By a Whitſon or Church Ale, up again they ſhall go, And owe their repairing to a &c. Truth will do it right, it brings Truth to light, And many bad matters it helps to reveal: For, they that will drink, will ſpeak what they think; TOM Tell-troth lies hid in a &c. It is Juſtices friend, ſhe will it commend: For, all is here ſerved by Meaſure and tale: Now, true-tale, and good meaſure, are Juſtices treaſure, And much to the praiſe of a &c. And next I alledge, it is Fortitudes edge: For, a very Cow-heard, that ſhrinks like a Snail, Will ſwear and will ſwagger, and out goes his Dagger, If he be but armed with a &c. Yea, ALE hath her Knights and Squires of degree, That never wore Corſlet, nor yet ſhirt of mail, But have fought their fights all, t'wixt the pot & the wall VVhen once they were dubb'd with a &c. And (ſure) it will make a man ſuddenly Wiſe, Er'e-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 pot, &c. Or he that will make a bargain to gain, In buying or ſetting his goods forth to ſale, Muſt not plod in the mire, but ſit by the fire, And ſeal up his Match with a pot, &c. But for Soberneſs needs, muſt I confeſs, The matter goes hard; and few do prevaile Not to go too deep, but temper to keep, Such is the Attractive of a pot, &c. But here's an amends, which will make all Friends, And ever doth tend to the beſt avail; If you take it too deep it will make you but ſleep; So comes no great harm of a pot, &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 pot, &c. If drinking about they chance to fall our, Fear not that Alarm, though fleſh be but fraile, It will prove but ſome blows, or at moſt a bloody noſe, And friends again ſtraight with a pot, &c. And Phyſick will favour ALE as it is bound, And be againſt Beer both tooth and naile; They ſend up and down all over the town To get for their Patients a pot, &c. Their Ale-berries, cawdels and poſſet; each one, And Syllabubs made at the Milking-pale, Although they be many, Beer comes not in any, But all are compoſed with a pot, &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 more Beer brew'd But all men betake them to a pot, &c. The Law that will take it under his wing. For, at every Lax-day, or Moot of the hale, One is ſworn to ſerve our Soveraigne the King, In the ancient Office of a Conner of Ale. There's never a Lord of Mannor or of a 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 pot, &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 pot, &c. They talk much of State both early and late, But if Gaſcoign and Spain their wine ſhould but faile, No remedy then, with us Engliſhmen, But the State it muſt ſtand by a pot, &c. And they that ſit by it ware good men and quiet, No dangerous Plotters in the Common-weale Of Treaſon and Murder: For they never go further Then to call for, and pay for a pot, &c. To the praiſe of Gambrivius that good Brittiſh King That devis'd for his Nation (by the Welſhmen's tale) Seventeen hundred years before Chriſt did ſpring, The happy invention of a pot, &c. The North they will praiſe it, & praiſe it with paſſion, Where every River gives name to a Dale: There men are •• t yet living that are of th'old faſhion, No Nectar they know but a pot, &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 mothers ſon, For not teaching the Scots to make Hether-Eale▪ But hither or thither, it skills not much whether: For Drink muſt be had, men live not by Keale. Not by Havor-bannocks, nor by Havor-jannocks The thing the Scots live on is a pot, &c. Now, if ye will ſay it, I will not deny it, That many a man it brings to his bale: Yet, what fairer end, can one wiſh to his friend, Then to die by the part of a &c. Yet, let not the innocent bear any blame It is their own doings▪ to break o're the pale: And neither the Malt, nor the good VViſe 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 drink no Beer, any day in the year, By the Radical humor of a &c. But to ſpeak of Killing, that am I not willing; For that in a manner, were but to rail: But BEER hath its name, cauſe it brings to the Biere, Therefore well-fare ſay I, to a &c. Too many (I wis) with their deaths, proved this▪ And therefore (if ancient Records do not fail) He that firſt brew'd the Hop, was rewarded with a rope, And found his Beer far more bitter then ALE. O ALE ab alendo; thou Liquor of LIFE! That 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 mark'd you out, And never a Vice in all this long traile, But that after the Pot there cometh a Shot, And that's th' only blot of a pot, &c. VVith that my Friend ſaid, that blot will I bear, You have done very well, it is time to ſtrike ſaile, VVee'l have ſix pots more, though I dy on the ſcore, To make all this good of a Pot of good ALE. FINIS