The poetic soul of Thomas Tusser, which has condescended to celebrate in quaint and homely verse most subjects of domestic interest or savouring of country life, has left us a short effusion on home-brew, which, though not perhaps so complete as a novice in the art of brewing might desire for his instruction, yet contains some pithy and, doubtless, useful rules. The verses are to be found in the _Pointes of Good Huswiferie_, and run thus:— Brew somewhat for thine, Else bring up no swine. Where brewing is needful, be brewer thyself, what filleth the roofe will helpe furnish the shelfe;[32] In buying of drinke by the firkin or pot the tallie ariseth, but hog amendes not.[33] Well brewed, worth cost, Ill used, halfe lost. One bushell well brewed, outlasteth some twaine, and saveth both mault, and expenses in vaine, Too new is no profite, too stale is as bad, drinke deade, or else sower, makes laborer sad. {57} Remember, good Gill, Take paine with thy swill. Seeth grains in more water, while graines be yet hot, and stirre them in copper as poredge in pot, Such heating with straw, to make offall good store,[34] both pleseth and easeth, what would you have more? [32] _i.e._, we presume, brewing which fills the roof with steam is good economy. [33] The score at the ale-house mounts up, but your pig is none the better for it. The allusion is to feeding pigs on the spent grains. [34] The grains are to be used again to make “offall,” or small beer. Pain was not always taken by Gill with her swill, as may be seen by the sad account of the _Distracted Maid, an Ancient Garland_, in which the evil results of a pre-occupied mind are shown. One verse of this effusion will doubtless be deemed sufficient:— To tell you as I am true, When ever I bake or brew, The thoughts of Will come uppermost still, I hardly know what to do; Instead of malt I put in salt, And boils my copper dry; The perjured Act, and wicket Fact, My brains are rack’d and I am crack’d, There’s no body knows but I, There’s no body knows but I. It is interesting to compare the cost of brewing in the sixteenth century with that at the present day. Harrison’s brewing, as he has shown us, cost him a fraction over a penny the gallon. The following account of a brewing in the household of the Duke of Northumberland, in the eighth year of the reign of Henry VIII., brings out somewhat the same result, though the “painful scribe” seems to have got a little confused in his arithmetic towards the end of his account; however, a good deal must be excused to those who have to work sums in Roman numerals.