A Pox on those Fools, who exclaim against Wine, And fly the dear sweets that the Bottle doth bring; It heightens the Fancy, the Wit does refine, And he that was first Drunk was made the first King. By the help of good Claret old Age becomes Youth, And sick Men still find this the only Physitian; Drink largely, you'll know by experience, the Truth, That he that drinks most is the best Politician. To Victory this leads on the brave Cavalier, And makes all the Terrors of War, but Delight; This flushes his Courage, and beats off base Fear, 'Twas that taught _Caesar_ and _Pompey_ to fight. This supports all our Friends, and knocks down our Foes, This makes us all Loyal Men from Courtier to Clown; Like _Dutchmen_ from Brandy, from this our Strength grows So 'tis Wine, noble Wine, that's a Friend to the Crown. _The Sexton's_ SONG. _Sung by_ BEN. JOHNSON, _in the Play of_ Hamlet _Prince of_ Denmark, _acting the_ _Grave maker._ [Music] Once more to these Arms my lov'd Pick-ax and Spade, With the rest of the Tools that belong to my Trade; I that Buried others am rose from the Dead, _With a Ring, a Ring, Ring, a Ring, and Dig a Dig, Dig._ My Thoughts are grown easie, my Mind is at rest, Since Things at the worst are now grown to the best, And I and the Worms that long fasted shall Feast, _With a Ring_, &c. How I long to be Measuring and cleaving the Ground, And commending the Soil for the Sculls shall be found, Whose thickness alone, not the Soil makes them sound, _With a Ring_, &c. Look you Masters, I'll cry, may the Saints ne'er me save, If this ben't as well contriv'd sort of a Grave, As a Man could wish on such occasion to have, _With a Ring_, &c. Observe but the make of't, I'll by you be try'd, And the Coffin so fresh there that lies on that side, It's Fifty Years since he that owns it has dy'd. _With a Ring_, &c. I hope to remember your Friend in a Bowl, An honest good Gentleman, God rest his Soul, He has that for a Ducket is worth a Pistole, _With a Ring_, &c. At Marriages next I'll affirm it and swear, If the Bride would be private so great was my Care, That not a Soul knew that the Priest joyn'd the Pair, _With a Ring_, &c. When I myself whisper'd and told it about What Door they'd go in at, what Door they'd go out, To receive the Salutes of the Rabble and Rout, _With a Ring_, &c. At Chris'nings I'll sit with abundance of Joy, And Drink to the Health of the Girl or the Boy, At the same I wish that Fate both would destroy, _That I may Ring_, &c. What e'er's my Religion, my Meaning's to Thrive, So the Child that is born, to the Font but survive, No matter how short it's continuance alive, _That I may Ring_, &c. Hear then my good Neighbours attend to my cry, And bravely get Children, and decently die, No Sexton now breathing shall use you as I, _With a Ring a Ring, Ring a Ring, Dig a Dig, Dig._ _The Great_ BOOBEE. [Music]