Much vertue there is in a pot of good ale.
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 scent of a pot of good ale.
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 cheek,
The true Orient colour of a pot of good ale.
But I mean the Mind, and the good it doth find,