The springs glorie Vindicating love by temperance against the tenent, sine cerere & Baccho friget Venus. Moralized in a maske. With other poems, epigrams, elegies, and epithalamiums of the authors Thomas Nabbes.

Vpon excellent strong Beere which he dranke at the Towne of Wich in Worcester shire where Salt is made.

THou ever youthfull god of wine, Whose burnisht cheekes with rubies shine; And browes with ivye chaplets crown'd, Wee dare thee here to pledge a round. Thy wanton grapes we doe detest▪ Here's richer juyce from barly prest. Let not the Muses vainly tell What vertue's in the horse-hoofe well, That scarce one drop of good blood breeds, But with meere inspiration feeds: Oh let them come and tast this Beere, And water hence-forth they'le forsweare. If that the Paracelsian crew The vertues of this liquor knew, Their endlesse toyles they would give o're, And never use extractions more. 'Tis Medicine; meate for young and old; Elixir; bloud of tortur'd gold. It is sublim'd; it's calcinate; 'Tis rectified; precipitate: It is Androgena Sols wife; It is the Mercury of life. It is the quintescence of Malt; And they that drinke it want no Salt▪ It heales; it hurts; it cures; it kills: Mens heads with proclamations fil••. It makes some dumbe, and others speake; Strong vessels hold, and crack't ones leake. It makes some rich, and others poor••▪ It makes, and yet marres many a scor••: