EXALTATIO ALAE.
THE EX-ALE-TATION OF ALE.
Done into Verse by T. C. P.
Anno Dom. 1666.
PROLOGUS.
NEc arte carmen expolire festivum
Didici; Camaenis haud faventibus natus:
Nec praepotens vinum dedit, Poetarum
Ʋt interesse me putem, sacris dignum:
Nec hydromeli, vel Cambriensium, Hyblaeo
Generosius, Lymphaque Pegaso nata,
Magis efficax lyrae facit sciens ut sim:
Sed neque adeo sublimis ingens fomes
Alesburia qualem, ac Deorbia princeps,
North-dounaque Rutupina carius vendit
Cervisia me divum inserit Choro natum.
Quid, inquis, ergo, Rhythmicus Poetaster
Ita rudis? an dolosior Lucelli spes
Refulget? aut sequax eduliorum te
Parasitus, huc, miselle, venter instigat?
Horum nihil sane. Sed atra me bilis
Hebetem licet, rudemque semi-paganum
Splenis latenter in fibras mihi repens
(Qua pruriam, et scripturiam iners, potens artis,
Quasi minxerim in cineres patris, vel Aetnaeo
Famosus igne postulem celebrari.)
Offuciis, ineptiisque lactatque
Epistrophisque lusitare titillat.
Quid obvius quod vatibus tabernatim
Qui factitant versus, canunt, bibunt, saltant;
Egone at, Ala symbolumque praegnantem
Sale quem, facetiis, leporibus, nugis
Iisdem facit idem, non reponerem ignavus?
Ala sed enim neque his disertior, vulgus
Qua in bibimus, ingenium reddit redundatum;
Neque nos asymboli sumus Poetastri,
Ʋt aurium demus operam et [...] gratis
Quisquam aut sine talione (sobrius, potus)
Lacessat; impares licet Palaestritae,
Quin Bromius ut animat, pares reluctemur.
Pari quis enim? quidve impedit referri par?
Id propter & periculum, vel ingratis
Nolens, volens feci, vicem Poetastris
Amusus ut reddam. Poeta qui non est
Ausis tamen, quibus excidit, Poetarum
Assecla potis est, inter, vel instar ut fiat
Pede qui nequit rectus, deambulet [...].
THE PROLOGƲE.
NO skill in polite verse, and mirth;
(The Muses frowned at my birth;)
Nor potent Sack hath dub'd my name
With Title of a Poets fame,
No Walsh Metheglin (nobler far
Than Hybla's; and beyond compare
For Efficacie, to that Spring
Which rose where Pegasus took wing.)
Hath tun'd my Harp. No; Nappy Ale
Wits cordial tipple (good and stale)
Such as Alesburie, Darby cheif
And North-down sells (to Poets greif)
At an high rate) hath rank'd my verse
Amongst the Laureat Choristers.
Why then Poor wretch! dost rhyme & prate?
Is gain the thing thou aymest at?
Or doth thy Gutt, that Parasite
Egg thee to dare above thy might?
Nor this; nor that; But Melancholly,
Dull as I am, and prone to folly,
Surprizing unaware my spleen
(A scribling itch I cannot wean;
An artlesse Art, which drives like mad
To do, what Reason me forbad;
As vain as he, to get a Name
That leapt into Mount Aetna's flame.)
Fraught with the Kick-shaw's of our Time,
Hath set me thus a gogg to rhyme.
What? when I hear all Taverns ring
With such as club, daunce, rhyme, and sing;
Should I, whom Ale makes full as wise,
In jest, and toyes, and fooleries;
Should I alone sit mute, and sneak,
While others wits run out and leak?
Their Ale is not more eloquent
Then ours, to give their Muses vent:
Nor scape we shot-free, to be bound
To hear, and plaud their empty sound;
That scribling (whether Wet, or Dry)
They should provoke without reply.
And though upon unequal terms,
Bacchus himself shall find us Arms
To quit their score. And that's One why
To match these Rhymesters Rhyme, and I
Thus put our selves in Jeopardy,
Maugre both Will, and Skill; and so
But play the fool, as Others do.
He that's no Poet, yet may be
For his attempt in some degree
Their Page or like; and Hobble on,
Where feet him fail, as I have done.
EXALTATIO ALAE.
NEc sobrius, nec potus, nec utroque remotus,
Conveni ami cum in Ales-buri valle?
Per faciem sensit, mî nitus quod mens sit
Non laudes deterere nobilis Alae.
Tunc sic me affatus (ut amplexatus
Meminitqne gratus de celebri valle)
Fert animus nuper, Alesburia super
Edisserere laudes nobilis Alae.
Meque alacrem prorsus, ita denique adorsus
Per si quid in Alâ sit Nectarale?
Ut ani mi follem, exuscitans tollam,
Quae sint ad praeconia nobilis Alae.
Non ausim hoc, inquam, ne fortè delinquam,
Nec adeo ingenij sum preditus sale:
Et sunt, qui peccare existimant fari
Quae sunt ad praeconia nobilis Alae.
Sed flocci non pendo, nil mali offendo;
Nec est quod reverear aliquid tale:
Nam crede Roberto, jamdiù experto,
Est virtus in medio nobilis Alae.
Nec tamen est sapor, dulciculus vapor,
Qui placido tendens adilia calle
Ventriculum rorat, et gulam adorat.
Fragranti salivâ praenobilis Alae.
Nec blandior Aspectus, oculis dilectus,
Amaena dum floret in Cyathi valle,
Genis renidescens, ceu Porrum virescens,
Qui color prae aliis est nobili Alae.
Sed animus volo, quem primitùs colo,
Vt simul cum corpore sentiat vale,
Corpusque animusque, ut valeant usque
Acceptum referant nobili Alae.
Nam anxietas in animi vas,
Aut aliud Cordolium ut repsit lethale,
Nil citiùs medetur, quo cura levetur,
Qùam plenior haustus nobilis Alae.
Vidua, maritum quae misit ad Ditem,
Non cogitat ultra crimen Capitale,
Sed anxia cubat, ni denuò nubat,
Titillatu accensa praenobilis Alae.
Perbellus est ventus, intusque retentus,
Calfacit ingenium, citatque vitale,
Ingenium quod viget, nec te tui piget,
Hoc debes ingenio nobilis Alae.
Nudus qui degit, haud vestibus eget,
Nec terga dat frigori (sit Hyemale)
Ventos diffindit, nasoque rescindit,
Iudutus Amiculo nobilis Alae.
Cui nil est Demensi, nil habet et pensi,
Par quamvis edendo sit Clavo trabali;
Nam famis oblitus, simulatque conditus
Praedulci intinctu est nobilis Alae.
Pauperculus plaudit, & unicè gaudet,
Cui nil est in penu lautum, ac dapale,
Hinc Epulas haurit, hinc Mensam instaurat,
Cum crustâ, cum poculo uobilis Alae.
Opilio, Sator, Messor, Tribulator,
Hic sarculo potens, hic falce malâ;
Hos cape viritìm inteream! suim
Ni velint extinguere nobili Alâ.
Ferrarius faber, cui ingens labor,
Et follis, cum facie Vulcanali,
Si guttur arescit, mentiri nescit
Quin aedes indigitet nobilis Alae.
Qnicunque negabit, Misellus laudabit,
Ad clathros mendicans, vinctusque falâ,
Compedibus laetus, et pellitur metus,
Ʋt guttur immaduit nobili Alá.
Mendicaque natio, eui sors est Rogatio,
Neque quidquam in tergo, quod pendeat, quale;
Ditior est in pannis, quam Miser, quotannis
Si ansam attigerit nobilis Alae.
Paupertas in mente, tunc est pro non Ente,
Jus, crusta, cum perâ, nil materiale;
Quasi pediculus cum sex pedibus
Caprissat, aculeo nobilis Alae.
Qui foveas tergit, dum Sol totus vergit,
Aut lassus arando, reliquit dentale,
Crepabit nil minus, quam Reges, Reginas,
Fastigium si tetigit nobilis Alae.
Ingenio rudi est Cos; et incudi
Quod reddis invitâ fit Minervâ tale;
Dat bebeti nuper, Lunam per & super,
Spectare a speculâ nobilis Alae.
Tum si quis amatur, interritus fatur.
Ingenio Corydon ante rurali,
Glutinatque suavia, crepitatque bravia,
Si priùs occurrerit nobili Alae.
Haec tollit Aurigam, ut deserat trigam,
Res rusticas orans Rhetorico sale?
A fronte, a tergo, fit Aulicus ergo,
Ʋt stylum exercuit nobilis Alae.
Qui dentes exutus, fit lingua solutus,
Expectorans sputus, prout Naturale,
Saltabit inanis, ceu in reste canis,
Fervore si caluit nobilis Alae.
Et Clericus bonus, cui legere est onus,
Post humidum desicit qua in radicale,
Literulas leget, specillis haud eget,
Vigorem indutus praenobilis Alae.
Genae et maxillae reddant laudet mille,
Pallidulae quamvis, & cute nivali,
Hâc namque colorem rosis pulchriorem
Imbutis tinctura dat nobilis Alae.
Viden' Antagonistis, miserisque Sophistis,
Ʋt aegrae apparent, strigosaeque malae?
Ʋt buccae flaccescunt, spiritusque vanescunt
Alienant qui animos nobili Alae.
Et postquam est Byna, capitis Inquilina,
Me posse nunc videor Enthusiasmo tali,
Quot commoda terrae, tot cuncta referre
Accepta virtutibus nobilis Alae.
Hâc perperam usus, de Musis paramusus:
Quae cantitant instar Philomelae,
Melodiâ gratâ, larynge roratâ,
Pegaseio fonte praenobilis Alae.
Et fidicen gnarus (fide, ceu voce rarus)
Ad summum ascendit hâc, Musicae scalae:
Maceratque pulmonem, superatque Spadonem,
Cantherium inscendens nobilis Alae.
Poeta divinus, vino peregrinus,
Quia non est in loculis aliquid tale,
Sublimia pangit, & sidera tangit,
Incessit quem [...] nobilis Alae.
Quis lirico sono, par ELDERTONO?
Qui lepidè lusit, & Musico sale,
Velisque expansis; prius tamen ansis
Arrepto Carches [...]o nobilis Alae.
Sed nec otiosa, dicatur in Prosâ,
Nam genium exacuit style florali,
Et lingua Culullis fit Ocyor Pullis,
Cum fluat a flumine nobilis Alae.
Et Philosophorum, si quis bibit horum,
In siliquis Nemo dat operam malè,
Sed nucleum rimatur, & Philosophatur,
Ad imum, et fundum praenobilis Alae.
Sit Oxoniensis, da sexdecim mensis,
Et Circopithecus, dic probet, quod tale;
Sexdecies inventum, melius argumentum
Dat haustus a Botley, praenobilis Alae.
Ingenium fovet, linguam proque movet.
Virtutem exauget, quantum ad Morale;
Tum nequis gravetur, si paucis laudetur
Morale quod spectat praenobilis Alae.
Ecclesiae prodest (Pietatis quod est)
Aut nostri Majores fecerunt malè,
Qui ubique locorum, propter Aedem Sanctorum
Dicaverint aedes praenobili Alae.
Verum nunc (perhibetur) Lupulata fovetur;
Infandum! nefas tolerari tale;
Nam cum lupulatâ, primum Haeresis nata,
Catholicum Nectar est nobilis Alae.
Quid debeant Templa, sunt publicè exempla,
Nam ubi ruinam dant, aut quid fatale,
Paganalia statim, reficiunt vicatim;
Quod sunt sarta tecta, dent nobili Alae.
[...]
Hanc Veritas dutem, quâ prodit in lucem
Agnoseit: Arcanaque facit haec palàm;
Qui bibunt, loquentur, quae siccis tacentur,
In fundo est Veritas. Nobilem Alam!
Institiae Amicam hanc meritò dicam,
Mensuris, & numeris quae dat aequale:
Numeri & mensurae, Justicolis curae,
Et hoc ad praeconia nobilis Alae.
In proximo tendit, quod Martem accendit;
Qui metuit animal haud cubitale,
Jurabit, & ringet, gladiolum stringet
Armatus ab animo nobilis Alae.
Habet Milites Illa, Magnates è villâ,
Quibus nec lorica, nec sit lorale;
Sed Scyphis ad morem pugnant Centaurorum,
Armigeri fortes praenobilis Alae.
Tum siquis delirat, Haec mentem inspirat,
Materiam & verba ne digerat malé,
Dat ore rotundo, salibuique faecundo
Assessor ut prodeat nobilis Alae
Aut si quis Mercator, lucri sit Venator,
Emendo, vendendo quod est venale,
Quo lutum vitetur, ad focum stipuletur,
Teste sigillo praenobilis Alae.
Sed fateor quìdem, haud sobrius îdem,
(Nam ardua res est, dicere VALE)
Simulac potabit, sibi temperabit,
Quae sunt leocinia nobilis Alae.
Est tamen in fatis, quod compensat satis,
Et rectâ tendit ad placidum quale;
Quàm bibas enormis, tàm altum dormis,
Sie malî nil inest praenohili Alae.
Qui cespitant, labant, aut fortè si cadaent,
Resurgere licet adminiculo Pali,
Qui aquâ merguntur, non sic moriuntur,
Quod falum donatum est nobili Alae.
Si more bibentûm, ad jurgia ventum:
Ne metuas Classitum fore mortale;
Sìeò titillet, ut nasiis distillet,
Restituet gratiam nobilis Ala.
Favet huic medicamen, nec injuria tamen,
Horrens Lupulatam, ceu quid Lethale;
Per hanc reddit vitam, domatìm quaesitam,
Et primas ascribit nobili Alae.
Alamenta, sorbilla, posraeque cum illâ.
Quam recens Oxygalam praebet mulctrale,
Multis numeratis, nullum lupulatis
Miscetur, sed poculo nobilis Alae.
Neque haec mala verba; Lupulus mala herba,
Trant ad nos portata, jus contra Regale;
Lex, O si servetur! Haec ne misceretur
Ʋt cuncti participent nobilis Alae.
Lex nempe non mala, fovel ALAM sub Alâ
Nam in qualibet Guria, jus quâ Legale
Serenissimo Regi, solet Cognitor legi,
A peculit Cognitor nobilis Alae.
Quis Dominus ille proediorum, aut villae?
Quae mari, quae terrâ, quae monte, quae valle,
Qui non aequum censet, Coronae ut penset
Jus, & mensuram praenobilis Alae
Superior edicta dat Curia siricta
Jus prohibens, infra quod sit, Curiale:
Alae tamen favet, nullique negavit
Quin Guriam adeat nobilis Alae
Res-publica multis est in ore stultis:
Sed ab Hispale vinum, & Burdigalâ
Si minùs vehatur, tum demum sciatur,
Quod Publica res, haec nobilis Ala,
Qui ALAE assuescunt, bibuli quiescunt,
Et Rei nil student Publicae mali,
Non sunt Perduelles, flammae jue rebelles
Solato, quod biberint nobilis Alaé.
CAMBIVIO detur, quod laudis meretur,
Qui excogitavit (si Credimus Walae)
Hoc foelix inventum, ter sexies centum
Annis ante Christum, praenobilis Alae.
Sed ille Gentilis, & ALA tum vilis;
Quid CHRISTƲS ut mundo jam dixit VALE?.
Don davy ne pipit lupulatam ut fifit,
Sed tot Cwwrwwbibley pot nobilis Alae.
Qui Roream colunt, super omnia tollunt,
(Quâ rivulus qnisque dat nomina Valli.)
Et senes ubivis, sunt illic in vivis,
Qui Nectar haud norunt, nisi nobilis Alae.
Pictique, Scotique, pugnabant utrique,
Tam abditum fuerat hoc in penetrali;
Sed funditùs Picti, a Scotis devicti,
Quod artem celabant hos Hetheraeale.
Verùm hac sit, an illac, tu prorsus nil fac;
Oportet haberi; non vivitur Kala;
Nam nee Haverhannocks, sed nec Haverjannocks,
Quod Scotis in votis est, nobilis Ala.
Nec inficiabor, (foret irritus labor)
Quod multi hinc dixerint ultimum VALE;
Da poculum ori, quàm dulce est MORI,
Decoris a spiculis nobilis Alae.
Innocuis tamen, hoc esto solamen,
Consciscit quod suum sibi quisque fatale:
Nam peccat, nec Byna, vetulave divinae,
Si potus quis potu sit nobilis Alae.
Quot morte offectet, hic si quis objectet;
Sit memor et quibus est Medicinale;
Lupulata necantur, qui ALA sanantur,
Quae salubris virtus est nobilis Alae.
Sed longè hoc a re MORTEM nominare,
Convitia nolim ingerere mala,
Quamvis Lupulata sit lupis enata;
Bonumque sit omen praenobilis Alae
Hoc multis compertum, et exitio certum,
(Archiva ni fallant) exemplo paenali;
Nam pendulus mox fit, qui lupulum coxit,
Lupulatam expertus, quod amarior Ala.
ALAM ab alendo, vitalem defendo;
Balanae si foret nunc os mihi quale!
Nam parvulum est mî, nec tantillulum quí
Praeconia praedicem nobilis Alae.
Animus tamen fallit, qui paucula callet,
Ni dixerim nil, ut durat malè:
Sed propter bibendum numeratò solvendum,
Hoc unicum onus est nobilis Alae.
Tune Vir ille bonus; Hoc mî erit Onus,
Fecisti tu satis; Dicéndum jam Vale;
Sex calices addam, Obaeratus si cadam,
Ʋt praestem praeconia nobilis Alae.
THE EX-ALE-TATION OF ALE.
NOt drunken, nor sober, but neighbour to both,
I met with a friend in Ales-burie 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, & said since we meet,
(And he put me in mind of the name of the Dale)
For Ales-buries sake, some pains I would take
And not bury the praise of a Pot of good Ale.
The more to procure me, then did he adjure me,
If the Ale I drank last was nappie & stale,
To do it its right, and stirr up my Sprite
And fall to commend a Pot of good Ale.
Quoth I, to commend it, I dare not begin,
Lest therein my credit might happen to faile,
For many men now do count it a sin,
But once to look towards a Pot of good Ale.
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 virtue there is in a Pot of good Ale:
And I mean not the tast, though thereby much grac't,
Nor the merry-go-down, without pull, or hale,
Perfuming the throat, when the stomach's a float
With the fragrant sweet scent of a Pot of good Ale.
Nor yet the delight that comes to the sight,
To see how it flow'rs and mantles in graile,
As green as a Leek, with a smile in the cheek,
The true Orient colour of a Pot of good Ale.
But, I mean the mind, and the good it doth find,
Not only the body, so seeble and fraile,
For body and soul, may blesse the Black Bowl
Since both are beholden to a Pot or good Ale,
For when heavinesse, the mind doth oppresse
And sorrow and greif the heart do assayle,
No remedy quicker, than to take off your liquor
And to wash away cates with a Pot of good Ale
The Widdow that buried her husband of late,
Will soon have forgotten to weep and to waile,
And think every year twain, till she marrie again,
If she read the contents of a Pot of good Ale.
It is like a Belly-blast to cold Heart,
And warm's and engenders the Spirits Vitale,
To keep them from damage all Sp'rits ow their homage
To the Sp'rit of the Butterie, a Pot of good Ale.
The naked complaines not for want of a Coat,
Nor on the cold weather will once turn his tayle;
All the way as he goes, he cuts the wind with his nose;
If he but well wrapt in a Pot of good Ale.
The hungry man takes no thought for his meat,
Though his stomach could brook a ten-penny naile,
He quite forgets hunger, thinks on it no longer
If he touch but the Sparks of a Pot of good Ale.
The poor man will praise it, so hath he good cause,
That all the year eats neither Partridg, not Quale,
But sets up his rest, and makes up his Feast,
With a crust of Brown-bread, and a Pot of good Ale.
The Shepheard, the Sower, the Thresher, the Mower,
The one with his scythe, the other with his flaile,
Take them out by the Pole, on the perill of my soul
All will hold up their hands to a Pot of good Ale,
The Black-smith, whose bellow's all Summer do blow
With the fire in his face still, without e're a vaile,
Though his throat be full dry, he will tell you no lie,
But where you may be sure of a Pot of good Ale.
Who ever denayes it, the Prisoner will praise it
That begs at the grate, and lyes in the jayle,
For ever in his fetter, he thinks himself better,
May he get but a two penny Black Pot of Ale.
The Beggar, whose portion is alwayes his Prayer,
Not having a tattar to hang on his tayle,
Is as rich in his rags, as the Churl in his bags
If he once but shake hands with a Pot of good Ale.
It drives his poverty clean out of mind,
Forgetting his Brown-bread, his Wallet, and Male,
He walks in the house, like a six footed Louse,
If he once be enricht with a Pot of good Ale.
And he that doth dig in the ditches all day,
And wearies himself quite at the Plough-tayle,
Will speak no lesse things, than of Queens, & of Kings,
If he touch but the top of a Pot of good Ale,
It is like a Whet-stone to a blunt wit,
And makes a supply where Nature doth faile;
The dullest wit soon, will look quite through the Moon,
If his Temples be wet with a Pot of good Ale,
Then Dick to his Darling full boldly dare speak,
Though before (silly fellow!) his courage did quaile;
He gives her the smouch, with his hand on his pouch
It he meet by the way with a Pot of good Ale.
And it makes the Carter, a Courtier straight-way;
With Rhetorical termes he will tell his tale,
With courtesies great store, and his Cap up before,
Being school'd but a little with a Pot of good Ale.
The old man, whose tongue wags faster than his teeth,
(For old age by Nature doth drivel and drayle,)
Will frig, and will fling, like a Dog in a string,
If he warm his cold blood with a Pot of good Ale.
And the good old Clerk, whose sight waxeth dark,
And ever he thinks the Print is too small;
He will see every letter and say Service better
If he glaze but his eies with a Pot of good Ale.
The Cheeks, and the Jaw's 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 Dy, and tincture of a Pot of good Ale.
Mark her enemies, tho they think themselv's 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 of good Ale.
And now that the Grain's do work in my Brain's,
Me-thinks I were able to give by retale,
Commodities store, a dozen and more,
That flow to Man-kind from a Pot of good Ale.
The Muses would muse, any should it misuse,
For it makes them to sing like a Nightingale,
With a lofty trim note, having washed their throat
With the Cabaline Spring of a Pot of good Ale.
And the Musician, of any condition,
It will make him reach to the top of his Scale,
It will clear his pipes, and moisten his Lights
If he drink alternatìm a Pot of good Ale.
The Poet divine, that cannot reach Wine,
Because that his mony doth many times faile,
Will hit on the vein, to make a good strein,
If he be but inspir'd with a Pot of good Ale.
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 of good Ale.
And the power of it shew's no lesse in Prose,
It will file ones phrase, and set forth his tale,
Fill him but a Bowle, it will make his tongue trole
For flowing speech flowes from a Pot of good Ale,
And Master Philosopher, if he drink his part,
Will not trifle his time in the husk, or the shale,
But go to the Kernell, by the depth of his Art:
To be found in the bottom of a Pot of good Ale,
Give a Scholar of Oxford a Pot of sixteen;
And put him to prove that an Ape hath no tayle,
And sixteen times better his wit wil be seen,
If you fetch him from Botley a Pot of good Ale.
Thus it helps speech and wit: And it hurts not a whitt
But rather doth further the Virtues Morale;
Then think it not much, if a little I touch
The good Morall-parts of a Pot of good Ale.
To the Church and Religion it is a good freind,
Or else our Fore-fathers, their wisdom did faile,
That at every mile, next to the Church-stile
Set a Consecrate house to a pot of good Ale.
But now (as they say) Beer bears it away;
The more is the pity, if Right might prevail,
Forth with the same Beer, came up Heresie here,
The old Catholique Drink, is a Pot of good Ale.
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 ow their repairing to a Pot of good Ale.
[...]
Truth will do it right, it brings Truth to light,
And many bad matters it helps to revaile;
For they that will drink, will speak what they think,
Tom-tell-troth lyes hid in a Pot of good Ale.
It is Iustices friend, she will it commend,
For all is here serv'd by measure and tale;
Now true tale, and good Measure, are Iustices treasure,
And much to the praise of a Pot of good Ale.
And next I alledg, it is Fortitudes edg;
For a very Coward that shrinks like a snayle,
Will swear and will swagger, and out goes his dagger,
If he be but arm'd with a Pot of good Ale.
Yea, ALE hath her Knights, and Squires of degree,
That never wore Corslet, nor yet shirt of Male,
But have fought their fights all, twixt the pot & the wall,
When once they were dubd with a Pot of good Ale.
And (sure) it will make a man suddenly wise,
Ere-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 of good Ale.
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 of good Ale.
But for Soberness, needs must I confess
The matter goes hard; and few do prevaile
Not to goe to deep, but temper to keep:
Such is the Attractive of a Pot of good Ale.
But her's an amends, which will makes 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 harm of a Pot of good Ale.
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 of good Ale.
If drinking about they chance to fall out;
Fear not the Alarm, tho flesh be but fraile;
It will prove but some blowes, or at most a bloodynose,
And friends again strait, with a Pot of good Ale.
And Phisick will favour ALE, as it is bound,
And be against Beer, both tooth and nayle;
They send up and down all over the Town
To get for their Patients a Pot of good Ale.
Their Ale berries, Cawdels, and Possets each one,
And Syllabubs made at the Milking-Pale,
Although they be many, Beer comes not in any,
But all are compos'd with a Pot of good Ale.
And in very deed, the Hop's but a weed,
Brought o're against Law, and here set to sale,
Would the Law were remov'd and no more Beer brewd
But all good men betake them to a Pot of good Ale.
The Law, that will take it under her Wing,
For at every Law-day, or Moot of the Hale,
One is sworn to serve our Soveraign the King,
In the ancient Office of a Conner of Ale.
There is never a Lord of Mannour, or of Town,
By Strand or by Land, by Hill, or by Dale,
But thinks it a Franchise, and a Flower of the Crown,
To hold the assise of a Pot of good Ale.
And though there lie writs from the Courts Paramount,
To stay the proceedings of the Court Paravaile;
Law favours it so, you may come, you may goe,
There lies no Prohibition to a Pot of good Ale.
They talk much of State, both early and late;
But if Gascoign, and Spain, their wine should but, saile,
No remedy then, with us English-men,
But the State, it must stand by a pot of good Ale.
And they that sit by it, are good men and quiet,
No dangerous Plotters in the Common-weale;
Of Treason, or Murder, For they never go further,
Then to call for, and pay for a Pot of good Ale.
To the praise of CAMBIVIUS, that good British King,
That devis'd for his Nation, (by the Welchmans tale)
Seventeen hundred years before CHRIST did spring,
The happy invention of a Pot of good Ale.
But he was a Paynim, and ALE then vvas rife,
Yet after CHRIST came, and bid us all haile,
St. Taphie tid never trink Peer in her lise,
But all Cwwrwwhibley a Pot of good Ale.
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 Nectat they knew but a Pot of good Ale.
The Picts, and the Scots, for ALE were at Lots,
So high was the skill, and so kept under seal;
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 Keal,
Nor by Havorhannocks, nor by Havor-jannocks,
The thing the SCOTS live on, is a Pot of good Ale,
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 dart of a Pot of good Ale?
Yet let not the innocent bear any blame,
It is their own doings to break o're the pale;
And neither the Mault, nor the Good-wife in fault,
If any be potted with a Pot of good Ale
They tell whom it kills, but say not a word,
How many a man lives both sound and hale,
Tho he drink no Beer any day in the year,
By the Radicall humour of a Pot of good Ale.
But to speak of killing, that am I not willing,
For that in a manner were but to raile;
But Beer hath its name, cause it brings to the Buyer
Therefore well-fare say I to a Pot of good Ale.
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 Beer far more bitter than Ale.
O ALE ab alendo, 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 Pot of good Ale.
Thus (I trow) some virtues I have markt you out;
And never a Vice in all this long traile,
But that after the Pot, there cometh a Shot,
And thats the on'ly blot of a Pot of good Ale.
With that my friend sayd, That blot I will bear;
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.
EPILOGƲS.
PAr pari dicis coeat: Latinae
Barbaco sed munia civitatis
Potui quis donet, ut inde fiat
Nobilis Ala?
Hac pedi, ventri, laterique dives
Cuncta pleno suppeditare cornu
Quae potest, annon meritó vocetur
Nobilis Ala?
Fare, sodes, Heluo, quisquis extrà
Quisquis intrà vis tibi quod voluptas:
Haec utrobique tibi namque praestat
Nobilis Ala.
Est Solaecismus; nec enim negabo:
Et Poetastris ita [...]
Ʋsus est, interdum opus et Poetis
Nobilis Ala.
Nam [...] juxta sonat, ac [...]
Et celebre est [...] Graeculorum,
Nempe sons quem Pegasus excavavit,
Nobilis Ala.
Gatiarum chorus, & Minerva
Quo bert, Liber simul, & Camaenae,
Par pari fac sis coeat, Poetae
Nobilis Ala.
Nobilem tu quam titulis honestis
Nobilem te dat salibus jococis,
Mutuò sic nobilis ipse, & ipsa
Nobilis Ala.
Nec Poetastri tamen inficeti
Sunt; neque ALA non duce tu Poeta
Ster potes quondam fieri; faceta est
Nobilis Ala.
Fac Poetastris igitur suaque
ALA quat de te meruit, suasque
Gratus ut landes tribuas Patronus
Nobilis Alae.
FINIS.
THE EPILOGUE.
OF like to like, none but allow.
But ALE which Rome did never know,
How comes it to be Latin now,
And Noble Ale?
What back, and bellie doth adorn,
And with a full and merry Horn
Yeelds all things that may serve our turn,
Is Noble Ale.
Thou that art full up to the chin;
And thou that wear'st a shining skin;
ALE causes both (without, within)
Say, tis Noble Ale.
But ALE'S not Latin: who denyes?
Rhymesters are wont to Barbarize,
And Poets need to glaze their eies,
With Noble Ale.
Poet, and Pot sound much at one;
This to the ancient Greeks was known,
For that Hors-pond in Helicon
Was Noble Ale.
Would'st have the Graces, Muses nine,
Pallas, & Bacchus God of wine
Be-friend thee? Pot and Poet joyn
With Noble Ale.
Title ALE noble, as tis fit,
For that ennobles thee with wit,
So both are noble, thou, and it
Is Noble Ale.
Hence Rhymesters get a lick sometime,
And ALE will make of thee a Rhyme-
Ster too; tacetious and whym
Is Noble Ale.
To Rhymesters therefore give some praise,
To me, as it deserv's alwayes,
And be a patron all thy dayes
To Noble Ale.
THE END.
ALE Aele-vated.
WHen the Chill Chirocco blows,
And Winter tells a heavy Tale;
When Pyes, and Dawes, and Rooks, and Crows
Do sit and curse the Frosts and Snows,
Then give us ALE
ALE in a Saxon Rumkin then,
Such as will make Grim Malkin prate;
Bids Valour Burgen in Tall men;
Quickens the Poets Wit and Pen;
Despiseth Fate.
ALE which the absent Battle fights;
That formes the March of Swedish Drums,
Disputes the Princes Laws and Rights;
What's done, and past, tells mortall Wights,
And what's to come.
ALE that the Plough mans heart up keeps,
And equals it to Tyrants Thrones;
That wipes the eye, which over-weeps
And lulls in sweet and dainty sleeps
Their weary Bones.
Grand-Child of Ceres, Barley's Daughter,
Wines Emulous Neighbour (if but stale)
Ennobling all the Nymphs of th' Water,
And filling each Mans heart with laughter.
Ah! Give me ALE.
FINIS.