Or else our Fore-Fathers their wisedome did faile,
That at every mile, next to the Church stile,
Set a consecrate house to a pot of good ale.
But now, as they say, Beer bears it away;
The more is the pity, if right might prevaile:
For, with this same Beer, came up Heresie here,
The old Catholicke drink is a pot of good ale.
The Churches much ow[e], as we all do know,
For when they be drooping and ready to fall,
By a Whitson or Church-ale, up again they shall go,