Was never yet made up of meat:
Drink off thy Sack, twas onely that
Made Bacchus and Jack Falstafe, Fatt.
Now, every Fat man I advise,
That scarce can peep out of his eyes,
Which being set, can hardly rise; [p. 73.]
Drink off his Sack, and freely quaff:
’Twil make him lean, but me [to] laugh
To tell him how —— ’tis on a staff.