Poems: by Francis Beaumont, Gent.: Viz. The hermaphrodite. The remedy of love. Elegies. Sonnets, with other poems.

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 speake no great harme 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 paines 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 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 not 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 hale, Perfuming the throat, when the stomack's afloat, With the fragrant sweet sent of a &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 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: For, Body and Soule may blesse the Black Bowle, Since both are beholden to a &c.

For, 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 Widdow 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.

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 homage To the Sp'rite of the Buttery a &c.

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 nose, If he be but well wrapt in a &c.

The hungry man takes no thought for his meat, Though his stomack would brook a ten-penny naile; He quite forgets hunger, thinks on it no longer, If he touch but the sparkes of a &c.

The Poore man will praise it, so hath he good cause, That all the yeare eats neither partridge nor quaile, But sets up his rest, and makes up his feast With a crust of brown bread, and a &c.

The Shepheard, the Sower, the Thresher, the Mower, The one with his Scyth, 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 &c.

The Black-Smith, whose bellows 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 a lye, But where you may be sure of a &c.

Who ever denies it, the Pris'ners will praise it, That beg at the grate, and lye in the Goale: For, even in their fetters, they thinke themselves better, May they get but a two-penny black pot of Ale.

The begger whose portion is alwaies his prayers, Not having a tatter to hang on his taile, Is as rich in his rags, as the churle in his bags, If he once but shakes hands with a &c.

It drives his poverty cleane out of mind, Forgetting his brown bread, his wallet, and maile; He walks in the house like a six-footed Louse, If once he be enricht with a &c.

And he that doth dig in the ditches all day, And wearies himselfe quite at the plough-taile, Will speake no less things than of Queens and of Kings, If he touch but the top of a &c.

'Tis like a Whetstone 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 &c.

Then DICK to his Dearling, fall boldly dares speake, Though, before (silly fellow) his courage did quaile, 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, With Rhetoricall termes he will tell his tale; With Courtesies great store, and his Cap up before, Being school'd but a little with a &c.

The Old man, whose tongue wags faster than his teeth, (For old-age by nature doth drivell and drale) Will frig and will fling, like a dog in a string, If he warme his cold blood with a &c.

And the good Old Clarke, whose sight waxeth darke, And ever he thinkes the Print is to small, He will see every letter, and say Service better, If he glaze but his eyes with a &c.

The Cheekes and the Jaws 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 &c.

Marke her enemies, though they thinke 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 &c.

And now that the grains do worke in my brains, Me thinks I were able to give by retaile Commodities store, a dozen and more, That flow to Mankind from a &c.

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 Caballine Spring of a &c.

And the Musician of any condition, It will make him reach to the top of his Scale: It will cleare his pipes, and moisten his lights, If he drink alternatim a &c.

The Poet divine, that cannot reach wine, Because that his money doth many times faile, Will hit on the veine to make a good streine, If he be but inspired with a &c.

For Ballads ELDERTON never had Peere, How went his wit in them, with how merry a gale; And with all the sailes up, had he been at the cup, And washed his beard with a &c.

And the power of it shows, no whit lesse in Prose, It will file one's phrase, and set forth his tale: Fill him but a boule, it will make his tongue troule, For flowing speech flows from a &c.

And Master Philosopher, if he drinke his part, Will not trifle his time in the huske or the shale, But go to the kernell by the depth of his Art, To be found in the bottome of a &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 Botley a &c.

Thus it helps Speech and Wit: And it hurts not a whit, But rather doth further the Virtues Morale, Then thinke it not much if a little I touch The good morall parts of a &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, Set a consecrate house to a &c.

But now, as they say, Beere beares it away; The more is the pitty, if right might prevaile: For, with this same Beer, came up Heresie here, The old Catholick Drinke is a &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 againe 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 reveale: For, they that will drinke, will speake what they thinke; 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 alleadge, it is Fortitudes edge: For a very Cow-heard, that shrinkes like a snaile, Will sweare and will swagger, and out goes his dagger, If he be but arm'd with a &c.

Yea, ALE hath her Knights and Squires of degree, That never wore Corslet, nor yet shirt of maile, But have fought their fights all, 'twixt the pot and the wall, When once they were dub'd with a &c.

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 seale up his Match with a &c.

But for Sobernesse needs must I confesse, The mater 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 bloudy nose, And friends againe straight with a &c.

And Physick 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 more Beere brew'd, But all good men betake them to a &c.

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 Soveraigne 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 faile, No remedy then, with us Englishmen, 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 Brittish King That devis'd for his Nation (by the Welshmen's tale) Seventeen hundred yeares before CHRIST did spring, The happy invention of a &c.

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 seale: The PICTS were undone, slaine each mothers 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-bannocks, 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 dye 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 kils, but say not a word, How many a man liveth both sound and hale, Though he drinke no Beere any day in the yeare, By the Radicall humour of a &c.

But, to speake of Killing, that am I not willing; For that, in a manner, were but to raile: But Beere hath its name, 'cause it brings to the Bier••, Therefore well-fare say I to a &c.

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 out, And never a Vice in all this long traile, But that after the Pot there commeth 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 though I dye on the score, To make all this good of a Pot of good ALE.