A Song in Praise of Sack
Hang the Presbyters Gill, bring a pint of Sack, Will,
More Orthodox of the two,
Though a slender dispute, will strike the Elf mute,
Here’s one of the honester Crew.
In a pint there’s small heart, Sirrah, bring a Quart;
There is substance and vigour met,
’Twill hold us in play, some part of the day,
But wee’l sink him before Sun-set:
The daring old Pottle, does now bid us battle,
Let us try what our strength can do;
Keep your ranks and your files, and for all his wiles,
Wee’l tumble him down stayrs too.
Then summon a Gallon, a stout Foe and a tall one,
And likely to hold us to’t;
Keep but Coyn in your purse, the word is Disburse,
Ile warrant he’le sleep at your foot.
Let’s drain the whole Celler, Pipes, Buts, and the Dweller,
If the Wine floats not the faster;
Will, when thou dost slack us, by warrant from Bacchus,
We will cane thy tun-belli’d Master.
[p. 54.]