32. A Man of _Wales_, a litle before _Easter_ Ran on his Hostes score for Cheese a teaster: His Hostes chalkt it up behind the doore, And said, For Cheese (good Sir) Come pay the score: Cod’s _Pluternails_ (quoth he) what meaneth these? What dost thou think her knows not Chalk from Cheese? A SONG. 33. Drink, drink, all you that think To cure your souls of sadnesse; Take up your Sack, ’tis all you lack, All worldly care is madness. Let Lawyers plead, and Schollars read, And Sectaries still conjecture, Yet we can be as merry as they, With a Cup of _Apollo’s_ nectar. Let gluttons feed, and souldiers bleed, And fight for reputation, Physicians be fools to fill up close stools, And cure men by purgation: Yet we have a way far better than they, Which _Galen_ could never conjecture, To cure the head, nay quicken the dead, With a cup of _Apollo’s_ Nectar. We do forget we are in debt When we with liquor are warmed; We dare out-face the Sergeant’s Mace, [p. 76.] And Martiall Troops though armed. The _Swedish_ King much honour did win, And valiant was as _Hector_; Yet we can be as valiant as he, With a cup of _Apollo’s_ Nectar. Let the worlds slave his comfort have, And hug his hoards of treasure, Till he and his wish meet both in a dish, So dies a miser in pleasure. ’Tis not a fat farm our wishes can charm, We scorn this greedy conjecture; ’Tis a health to our friend, to whom we commend This cup of _Apollo’s_ Nectar. The Pipe and the Pot, are our common shot, Wherewith we keep a quarter; Enough for to choak with fire and smoak The Great _Turk_ and the _Tartar_. Our faces red, our ensignes spread, _Apollo_ is our Protector: To rear up the Scout, to run in and out, And drink up this cup of Nectar. A CATCH. 34. Welcome, welcome again to thy wits, This is a Holy day: I’le have no plots nor melancholly fits, But merrily passe the time away: They are mad that are sad; Be rul’d, by me, And none shall be so merry as we; The Kitchin shall catch cold no more, And we’l have no key to the Buttery dore, The fidlers shall sing, And the house shall ring, And the world shall see What a merry couple, Merry couple, We will be. _FINIS._ EDITORIAL POSTSCRIPT: 1.—ON THE “AUTHOR” OF _AN ANTIDOTE AGAINST MELANCHOLY_, 1661.