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Much vertue there is in a, pot of good ak. B 2 Pills to Purge Melancholly. And I mean not to tafte, though thereby much grac't, Nor the Merry-go-down without pull or hale Perfuming the throat, when the ftomack's afloat, With the fragrant fweet fcent of a pot of good ale. Nor yet the delight that comes to the fight To fee how it flowers and mantles in graile, As green as a leeke, with a fmile 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 onely the body fo feeble and fraile ; For body and foul may bleffe the black bowle, Since both are beholden to a pot of good ale. For when heavineffe the mind doth oppreffe, And forrovv and grief the heart do affaile, No remedy quicker than to take off your liquor, And to wafh away cares with a pot of good ale. The widow that buried her husband of late, Will foon have forgotten to weep and to waile, And think every day twain, till fhe marry again, If fhe read the contents of v. pot of good ale. It is like a belly-blaft to a cold heart, And warms and engenders the fpirits vitale: To keep them from domage all fpirits owe their homage To the fprite of the buttery, a pot of good ale. And down to the legs the vertue doth go, And to a bad foot-man is as good as a faile: When it fills the veins, and makes light the brains, No lackey fo nimble as a pot of good ale.
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