_Double_ X, like his Sister, is brilliant and clear, Like his Mother, tho’ bitter, by no means severe: Like his Father, _not small_, and resembling each brother, Joins the spirit of one to the strength of the other. In John Taylor’s time there seems to have existed among ale drinkers a wholesome prejudice against wine in general, and more especially sack. The water poet writes very bitterly on the subject:— Thus Bacchus is ador’d and deified, And we _Hispanialized_ and _Frenchifide_; Whilst _Noble Native Ale_ and _Beere’s_ hard fate Are like old Almanacks, quite out of date. Thus men consume their credits and their wealths, And swallow Sicknesses in drinking healths, Untill the Fury of the spritefull Grape Mountes to the braine, and makes a man an Ape. Another poet wrote in much the same strain:— Thy wanton grapes we do detest: Here’s richer juice from Barley press’d. * * * * * {8} Oh let them come and taste this beer And water henceforth they’ll forswear. Our ancestors seem, indeed, almost to have revered good malt liquor. Richard Atkinson gave the following excellent advice to Leonard Lord Dacre in the year 1570: “See that ye keep a noble house for beef and beer, that thereof may be praise given to God and to your honour.” The same subject—comparison of sack with ale to the disadvantage of the former—is still better treated in an old ale song by Beaumont; it is such a good one of its kind that we give it in full:— ANSWER OF ALE TO THE CHALLENGE OF SACK. Come all you brave wights, That are dubbed ale-knights, Now set out yourselves in sight; And let them that crack In the presence of Sack Know Malt is of mickle might. Though Sack they define Is holy divine, Yet it is but naturall liquor, Ale hath for its part An addition of art To make it drinke thinner or thicker. Sack; fiery fume, Doth waste and consume Men’s humidum radicale; It scaldeth their livers, It breeds burning feavers, Proves vinum venenum reale. But history gathers, From aged forefathers, That Ale’s the true liquor of life, Men lived long in health, And preserved their wealth, Whilst Barley broth only was rife. {9} Sack, quickly ascends, And suddenly ends, What company came for at first, And that which yet worse is, It empties men’s purses Before it half quenches their thirst. Ale, is not so costly Although that the most lye Too long by the oyle of Barley; Yet may they part late, At a reasonable rate, Though they came in the morning early. Sack, makes men from words Fall to drawing of swords, And quarrelling endeth their quaffing; Whilst dagger ale Barrels Beare off many quarrels And often turn chiding to laughing.