_Cassio._ ‘Fore heaven, an excellent song. _Iago._ I learned it in England, where (indeed) they are most potent in potting. Your Dane, your German, and your swag-bellied Hollander,--Drink, oh!--are nothing to your English. _Cassio._ Is your Englishman so expert in his drinking? _Iago._ Why he drinks you with facility your Dane dead drunk; he sweats not to overthrow your Almain; he gives your Hollander a vomit ere the next pottle can be filled. _Cassio._ To the health of our general! _Mon._ I am for it, lieutenant, and I’ll do you justice. _Iago._ _O sweet England!_ How like is human nature at all periods! Iago’s drinking song reminds us of the half-gay, half-melancholy campaigning song, said to have been composed by General Wolfe, and sung by him at the mess-table on the eve of the storming of Quebec, in which he fell so gloriously:-- Why, soldiers, why Should we be melancholy, boys? Why, soldiers, why, Whose business ‘tis to die? For should next campaign Send us to Him who made us, boys, We’re free from pain; But should we remain, _A bottle and kind landlady_ Will set all right again. This song was a favourite with Sir Walter Scott--see Washington Irving’s _Abbotsford and Newstead_. VI. The bane of ardent spirits and of that to which they conduce--intemperance. Thus _Othello_, act ii. scene 3:-- O, that men should put an enemy in their mouths to steal away their brains! that we should, with joy, revel, pleasure, and applause, transform ourselves into beasts! And again-- O thou invisible spirit of wine, if thou hast no name to be known by, let us call thee--devil! And-- Every inordinate cup is unblessed, and the ingredient is a devil. Two customs which are alluded to in Shakespeare’s works are worthy of note. _Merry Wives of Windsor_, act ii. scene 2. _Bard._ Sir John, there’s one Master Brook below would fain speak with you, and be acquainted with you; and hath sent your worship a morning’s draught of sack. According to Malone, it seems to have been a common custom at taverns, in our author’s time, to send presents of wine from one room to another, either as a memorial of friendship, or (as in the present instance) by way of introduction to acquaintance. Of the existence of this practice the following anecdote of Ben Jonson and Bishop Corbet furnishes a proof: Ben Jonson was at a tavern, and in comes Bishop Corbet (but not so then) into the next room. Ben Jonson calls for a quart of _raw_ wine, and gives it to the tapster. “Sirrah,” says he, “carry this to the gentleman in the next chamber, and tell him, I sacrifice my service to him.” The fellow did, and in those words. “Friend,” says Dr. Corbet, “I thank him for his love; but ‘pr’ythe tell him from me that he is mistaken; for _sacrifices_ are always _burnt_”’ (_Merry Passages and Jeasts_, MSS. Harl. 6395).