Confirm what formerly you've given,
Nor leave me now at six and seven,
As Sunderland has left Mun Stephen."
And again:—
"My uncle, rest his soul! when living,
Might have contrived me ways of thriving;
Taught me with cider to replenish
My vats, or ebbing tide of Rhenish;
So, when for hock I drew pricked white-wine,
Swear 't had the flavour, and was right-wine;