So well hee lik'd th' profession: on a Time
Having staid long at pot (for rule nor line
Limits no drunkard) even from Morne to Night,
He hasted home apace, by the Moone-light:
Where as he went, what phantasies were bred,
I doe not know, in his distempered head,
But a strange Ghost appear'd, and forc'd him stay,
With which perplext, hee thus began to say:
"Good Spirit, if thou be, I need no charme,