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 ho∣mage 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