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;