How went his wit in them, with how merry a Gale,
And with all the Sails up, had he been at the Cup,
And washed his beard with a pot of good ale.
And the power of it showes, no whit less in Prose,
It will file one’s Phrase, and set forth his Tale:
Fill him but a Bowle, it will make his Tongue troul,
For flowing speech flows from a pot of good ale.
And Master Philosopher, if he drink his part,
Will not trifle his time in the huske or the shale,
But go to the kernell by the depth of his Art,