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

The answer of Ale to the challenge of Sack.

COme, all you brave wights, That are dubbed Ale-knights, Now set out your selves in sight: And let them that crack In the praises of Sack

Know Malt is of mickle might. Though Sack they define To holy divine,

Yet it is but naturall liquor: Ale hath for its part An addition of Art,

To make it drinke thinner or thicker. Sacks fiery fume Doth waste and consume

Mens humidum radicale; It scaldeth their livers, It breeds burning feavers,

Proves vinum venenum reale. But History gathers, From aged forefathers,

That Ale's the true liquor of life: Men liv'd long in health, And preserved their wealth,

Whil'st Barley-broth only was rise. Sack quickly ascends, And suddenly ends

What company came for at first:

And that which yet worse is, It empties mens purses

Before it halfe quencheth their thirst. Ale is not so costly, Although that the most lye

Too long by the oyle of Barley; Yet may they part late At a reasonable rate,

Though they came in the morning early. Sack makes men from words Fall to drawing of swords,

And quarrelling endeth their quaffing; Whil'st dagger-ale barrels Beare off many quarrels,

And often turne chiding to laughing. Sack's drinke for our Masters, All may be Ale-tasters,

Good things the more common the better. Sack's but single broth: Ale's meat, drink, and cloath

Say they that know never a letter. But not to entangle Old friends till they wrangle,

And quarrell for other mens pleasure; Let Ale keep his place, And let Sack have his grace,

So that neither exceed the due measure.