







 
   
     
       
         A dialogue between claret & darby-ale a poem, considered in an accidental conversation between two gentlemen.
         Ward, Edward, 1667-1731.
      
       
         
           1692
        
      
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             A dialogue between claret & darby-ale a poem, considered in an accidental conversation between two gentlemen.
             Ward, Edward, 1667-1731.
             Ames, Richard, d. 1693.
          
           [2], 10 p.
           
             Printed for E. Richardson,
             London :
             1692.
          
           
             Reproduction of original in Huntington Library.
             Also attributed to Richard Ames. cf. NUC pre-1956.
             Advertisement at end.
          
        
      
    
     
       
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         eng
      
       
         
           Political poetry, English.
        
      
    
     
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           A
           DIALOGUE
           BETWEEN
           Claret
           &
           Darby-Ale
           .
           A
           POEM
           .
           Considered
           in
           an
           accidental
           Conversation
           between
           two
           Gentlemen
           .
        
         
           LONDON
           :
           Printed
           for
           
             E.
             Richardson
          
           ,
           1692.
           
        
      
    
     
       
         
         
         
           A
           DIALOGUE
           BETWEEN
           Claret
           and
           Darby-Ale
           .
        
         
           Two
           Gentlemen
           
             meeting
             on
          
           Ludgate-Hill
           .
        
         
           
             1
             
               st
               Gent.
            
             
          
           
             WElcome
             from
             the
             Country
             Dear
             Harry
             ;
             what
             an
             Affliction
             has
             your
             Absence
             been
             to
             your
             Friends
             ,
             who
             have
             hardly
             Enjoyed
             one
             pleasant
             Hour
             since
             you
             left
             us
             .
          
        
         
           
             2
             
               d
               Gent.
            
             
          
           
             And
             I
             as
             few
             pleasant
             Minutes
             .
             —
             They
             may
             talk
             what
             they
             will
             of
             the
             Diversions
             of
             the
             Country
             ,
             as
             
               Hawking
               ,
               Hunting
               ,
               Setting
               ,
               Coursing
               ,
            
             &c.
             
             There
             's
             no
             true
             solid
             Pleasure
             like
             a
             Town-Life
             ,
             half
             a
             Dozen
             
               honest
               Friends
            
             ,
             and
             as
             many
             refreshing
             Bottles
             of
             generous
             Wine
             ,
             is
             a
             Pleasure
             which
             the
             Country
             cannot
             parrallel
             .
          
        
         
           
             1
             
               st
               Gent.
            
             
          
           
             Pardon
             me
             there
             Sir
             ;
             the
             very
             pleasure
             you
             speak
             of
             you
             may
             Enjoy
             to
             as
             full
             a
             Perfection
             in
             the
             Country
             as
             you
             can
             in
             the
             Town
             .
          
        
         
           
             2
             
               d
               Gent.
            
             
          
           
             You
             would
             be
             of
             another
             Opinion
             Will
             ,
             if
             you
             knew
             what
             was
             my
             usual
             Company
             ;
             To
             day
             a
             couple
             of
             noisy
             Knights
             talking
             of
             nothing
             but
             Taxes
             and
             Politicks
             .
             —
             To
             morrow
             three
             or
             four
             
               Insipid
               '
               Squires
            
             discoursing
             of
             their
             
             Horses
             and
             Dogs
             ,
             as
             Crop
             and
             
               Dapple
               ,
               Iowler
               ,
               Rockwood
               ,
               Ringwood
            
             and
             Bowman
             .
             Two
             or
             three
             days
             after
             ,
             an
             old
             Country
             Iustice
             ,
             with
             five
             or
             six
             Rich
             Yeomen
             confounding
             the
             Gazets
             and
             publick
             News-Papers
             with
             their
             senseless
             Commentaries
             .
             But
             what
             need
             I
             say
             more
             ,
             are
             not
             these
             think
             you
             very
             agreeable
             Converse
             ?
             I
             am
             as
             glad
             I
             am
             come
             again
             to
             this
             
               dear
               Town
            
             as
             an
             Englishman
             who
             has
             been
             six
             Months
             Prisoner
             at
             St.
             Maloes
             is
             to
             see
             his
             Native
             Country
             once
             more
             .
          
        
         
           
             1
             
               st
               Gent.
            
             
          
           
             Then
             you
             reckon
             your
             coming
             to
             Town
             just
             as
             the
             Iews
             did
             their
             return
             from
             the
             Land
             of
             Captivity
             .
          
        
         
           
             2
             
               d
               Gent.
            
             
          
           
             Well
             ,
             let
             the
             Iews
             be
             in
             Captivity
             or
             out
             of
             Captivity
             ,
             I
             care
             not
             ;
             but
             this
             Discourse
             Edifies
             no
             more
             than
             a
             Relation
             of
             the
             
               New
               Lights
            
             to
             a
             Blind
             Man
             :
             I
             am
             for
             more
             substantial
             Doctrin
             .
             —
             Besides
             I
             hate
             standing
             in
             the
             Street
             ,
             it
             looks
             so
             like
             Men
             of
             Business
             ,
             and
             those
             Fellows
             ,
             you
             know
             are
             my
             most
             particular
             Aversion
             :
             Let
             me
             see
             ,
             what
             Tavern
             are
             we
             near
             ?
             Where
             we
             may
             meet
             with
             a
             Glass
             of
             
               old
               racy
               generous
               Wine
            
             ,
             such
             as
             the
             Gods
             Drink
             when
             they
             'r
             a
             Dry
             ,
             for
             I
             am
             resolv'd
             not
             to
             part
             with
             you
             ,
             till
             we
             have
             refresht
             our
             Understandings
             to
             such
             a
             pitch
             ,
             that
             we
             shall
             be
             as
             Witty
             as
             Poets
             ,
             as
             Wise
             as
             Statesmen
             ,
             and
             as
             Religious
             as
             the
             
               Council
               of
               Trent
            
             :
             What
             sayst
             thou
             my
             Lad
             ,
             ha
             ?
          
        
         
           
             1
             
               st
               Gent.
            
             
          
           
             I
             think
             Harry
             you
             need
             not
             the
             additional
             help
             of
             the
             Bottle
             ,
             for
             you
             talk
             as
             briskly
             already
             as
             if
             you
             were
             Inspir'd
             .
             —
             What
             think
             you
             of
             a
             Dish
             of
             Settle-brain
             .
          
        
         
           
             2
             
               d
               Gent.
            
             
          
           
             Coffee
             I
             suppose
             you
             mean
             ;
             no
             ,
             no
             ,
             Will
             ,
             I
             never
             think
             on
             't
             at
             all
             ;
             I
             have
             above
             twenty
             Actions
             against
             that
             and
             
               Small
               beer
            
             .
             —
             Prethee
             no
             more
             of
             that
             sober
             Discourse
             ,
             but
             to
             the
             matter
             in
             hand
             ;
             whither
             shall
             we
             go
             ,
             to
             the
             George
             ,
             or
             the
             Three-Tuns
             ?
             You
             know
             'em
             both
             I
             'm
             sure
             .
          
        
         
           
             2
             
               d
               Gent.
            
             
          
           
             Yes
             ,
             as
             I
             did
             Mrs.
             
               you
               know
               who
            
             ,
             about
             four
             years
             ago
             ;
             Faith
             ,
             't
             was
             a
             pretty
             familiar
             Girl
             till
             she
             practis'd
             Jilting
             ,
             and
             then
             you
             are
             sensible
             't
             is
             high
             time
             to
             quit
             her
             .
          
        
         
           
           
             2
             
               d
               Gent.
            
             
          
           
             Why
             ?
             have
             they
             Disoblig'd
             you
             lately
             by
             drawing
             you
             bad
             Wine
             ?
          
        
         
           
             1
             
               st
               Gent.
            
             
          
           
             No
             ,
             never
             to
             my
             knowledg
             .
             —
             To
             tell
             you
             the
             plain
             Truth
             Harry
             ,
             I
             drink
             no
             Wine
             ;
             and
             I
             think
             the
             Enmity
             between
             us
             is
             so
             great
             ,
             that
             I
             fear
             we
             shall
             not
             be
             Friends
             again
             .
          
        
         
           
             2
             
               d
               Gent.
            
             
          
           
             Then
             I
             come
             in
             a
             very
             lucky
             minute
             to
             Reconcile
             you
             ;
             come
             ,
             we
             will
             drink
             one
             compounding
             Bottle
             of
             Claret
             ,
             and
             see
             if
             we
             can
             bring
             matters
             to
             accomodation
             .
          
        
         
           
             1
             
               st
               Gent.
            
             
          
           
             I
             'll
             as
             soon
             drink
             one
             Bottle
             of
             Aqua-fortis
             .
             —
             Besides
             ,
             you
             'r
             deceiv'd
             if
             you
             think
             to
             find
             Claret
             in
             Town
             ;
             I
             will
             not
             say
             but
             there
             may
             be
             such
             Liquor
             ;
             but
             a
             Town-Iilt
             never
             went
             by
             more
             Names
             than
             Claret
             does
             now
             ;
             in
             one
             place
             't
             is
             Barcelona
             ,
             in
             another
             Navarr
             ,
             here
             Syracuse
             ,
             and
             there
             St.
             Sebastian
             ;
             but
             the
             general
             Name
             they
             give
             it
             is
             Red-port
             .
          
        
         
           
             2
             
               d
               Gent.
            
             
          
           
             Let
             'em
             give
             it
             as
             many
             Names
             as
             the
             Mogul
             has
             Titles
             ,
             I
             care
             not
             ;
             come
             ,
             come
             ,
             you
             shall
             drink
             one
             Bottle
             with
             me
             .
          
        
         
           
             1
             
               st
               Gent.
            
             
          
           
             Indeed
             you
             must
             excuse
             me
             Harry
             ,
             for
             I
             swear
             I
             will
             not
             drink
             one
             drop
             of
             Wine
             .
          
        
         
           
             2
             
               d
               Gent.
            
             
          
           
             One
             may
             guess
             as
             much
             by
             thy
             
               Ember-week
               Complexion
            
             :
             You
             know
             I
             hate
             to
             press
             upon
             my
             Friends
             too
             much
             :
             What
             then
             will
             you
             Drink
             ?
             Or
             what
             is
             your
             beloved
             Liquor
             ?
             For
             I
             am
             resolved
             we
             will
             no
             more
             part
             with
             dry
             Lips
             ,
             than
             half-a-dozen
             Fanaticks
             formerly
             met
             together
             ,
             could
             part
             without
             railing
             at
             the
             Government
             .
          
        
         
           
             1
             
               st
               Gent.
            
             
          
           
             Truly
             my
             ordinary
             Liquor
             is
             the
             product
             of
             our
             own
             Country
             ,
             good
             nappy
             well-brew'd
             Ale
             ;
             but
             when
             I
             would
             Regale
             my
             Sense
             ,
             and
             treat
             my
             Palate
             ,
             't
             is
             generally
             with
             a
             Pint
             or
             two
             of
             Nottingham
             or
             Darby
             .
          
        
         
           
             2
             
               d
               Gent.
            
             
          
           
             Ha
             ,
             ha
             ,
             ha
             ,
             Ale
             ,
             quoth
             a
             !
             A
             Man
             of
             thy
             sense
             and
             drink
             such
             foggy
             ,
             unedifying
             Stuff
             !
             But
             we
             will
             not
             here
             descend
             into
             the
             Merits
             of
             the
             Cause
             ;
             come
             I
             have
             
             found
             out
             an
             Expedient
             will
             please
             us
             both
             ;
             let
             's
             go
             to
             the
             Wonder
             within
             the
             Gate
             ,
             and
             I
             doubt
             not
             but
             honest
             
               Ned
               B
               —
               s
            
             will
             furnish
             us
             with
             Liquors
             both
             good
             in
             their
             Kinds
             ,
             you
             with
             your
             Darby
             ,
             and
             me
             with
             my
             Claret
             .
          
        
         
           
             1
             
               st
               Gent.
            
             
          
           
             Agreed
             ,
             —
             The
             House
             stands
             rarely
             well
             for
             a
             Trade
             .
          
        
         
           
             2
             
               d
               Gent.
            
             
          
           
             And
             no
             doubt
             it
             has
             it
             .
             —
             Sirrah
             ,
             Drawer
             ,
             bid
             your
             Master
             bring
             us
             up
             a
             Bottle
             of
             Darby
             ,
             and
             a
             Half-Flask
             of
             the
             best
             Red
             he
             has
             in
             his
             Cellar
             .
          
        
         
           
             1
             
               st
               Gent.
            
             
          
           
             Now
             we
             are
             set
             ,
             
               Dear
               Harry
            
             let
             's
             have
             a
             short
             account
             of
             some
             Country
             Intreagues
             of
             thine
             ;
             an
             Assignation
             in
             a
             Barn
             may
             ,
             for
             Variety's
             sake
             ,
             please
             as
             well
             as
             at
             a
             Ladys
             Lodgings
             in
             the
             Pell-Mell
             .
          
        
         
           
             2
             
               d
               Gent.
            
             
          
           
             Something
             may
             be
             done
             after
             a
             Dozen
             Gasses
             or
             so
             ;
             but
             you
             shall
             first
             oblige
             me
             with
             some
             piece
             of
             
               Wit
               ,
               Satyr
            
             ,
             or
             Lampoon
             ,
             for
             I
             know
             you
             have
             been
             very
             happy
             in
             Procuring
             things
             of
             that
             Nature
             .
          
        
         
           
             1
             
               st
               Gent.
            
             
          
           
             Faith
             the
             Town
             has
             been
             very
             Dull
             this
             Vacation
             .
             —
             But
             this
             Morning
             I
             met
             a
             Friend
             who
             gave
             me
             a
             Paper
             of
             Verses
             ,
             which
             he
             said
             pleas'd
             him
             ;
             I
             have
             not
             had
             so
             much
             Leisure
             as
             to
             read
             a
             Line
             of
             'em
             yet
             ;
             but
             here
             they
             are
             ,
             and
             I
             wish
             they
             may
             be
             diverting
             .
          
        
         
           
             2
             
               d
               Gent.
            
             
          
           
             They
             will
             no
             doubt
             ;
             Wit
             is
             sometimes
             as
             agreeable
             over
             a
             Glass
             ,
             and
             relishes
             as
             well
             as
             a
             Neats-Tongue
             or
             a
             Dish
             of
             Anchovies
             .
             —
             Bless
             me
             !
             Will
             ,
             't
             is
             the
             very
             subject
             we
             could
             have
             wisht
             for
             .
             —
             
               a
               Dialogue
               between
               Claret
               and
               Darby
               Ale.
            
             —
             If
             the
             Author
             manages
             his
             Subject
             well
             ,
             we
             shall
             have
             Diversion
             enough
             ,
             no
             doubt
             ;
             but
             before
             we
             Read
             it
             ,
             we
             'll
             take
             Half-a-dozen
             Glasses
             a
             piece
             to
             the
             memory
             of
             our
             absent
             Friends
             .
          
        
         
           
             1
             
               st
               Gent.
            
             
          
           
             With
             all
             my
             Heart
             ,
             —
             And
             then
             I
             hope
             the
             Poem
             will
             Attone
             for
             the
             Dullness
             of
             my
             Company
             .
          
        
         
           
             2
             
               d
               Gent.
            
             
          
           
             No
             Complements
             Will.
             —
             But
             now
             to
             the
             business
             .
             —
             
               A
               Dialogue
               between
               Claret
               and
               Darby
               Ale
               ,
            
             —
             A
             kind
             of
             
             Aesop's
             Fable
             in
             Verse
             .
             —
             
               A
               half
               Flask
               of
            
             Claret
             
               standing
               on
               a
               Table
               ,
               a
               Bottle
               of
            
             Darby
             
               Enters
               ,
               and
               places
               himself
               
               within
               half
               a
               Yard
               of
               him
               ;
               at
               which
               Affront
               the
            
             Claret
             
               in
               a
               passion
               Speaks
            
             .
          
           
             Reads
             .
             —
          
           
             
               
                 
                   Claret
                   .
                
                 
                   What
                   Slave
                   art
                   thou
                   ,
                   Impertinent
                   and
                   Rude
                   ,
                
                 
                   That
                   dar'st
                   upon
                   my
                   Privacies
                   Intrude
                   ?
                
                 
                   Speak
                   quickly
                   Wretch
                   ,
                   and
                   tell
                   me
                   who
                   thou
                   art
                   ,
                
                 
                   Thy
                   business
                   too
                   ,
                   or
                   instantly
                   Depart
                   .
                
              
               
                 
                   Darby
                   .
                
                 
                   Good
                   words
                   will
                   breed
                   no
                   Blisters
                   on
                   the
                   Tongue
                   ;
                
                 
                   To
                   call
                   me
                   Slave
                   and
                   Wretch
                   ,
                   you
                   do
                   me
                   wrong
                   ;
                
                 
                   If
                   you
                   provoke
                   me
                   ,
                   I
                   perhaps
                   can
                   shew
                
                 
                   As
                   much
                   of
                   Birth
                   and
                   Pedegree
                   as
                   you
                   ;
                
                 
                   For
                   by
                   your
                   poor
                   
                     Straw
                     Iacket
                  
                   ,
                   't
                   is
                   as
                   plain
                   ,
                
                 
                   As
                   by
                   your
                   Questions
                   ,
                   you
                   'r
                   no
                   Gentleman
                   .
                
              
               
                 
                   Claret
                   .
                
                 
                   
                     Ill
                     judging
                     Fool
                  
                   ,
                   who
                   dost
                   by
                   outsides
                   guess
                   ,
                
                 
                   And
                   value
                   things
                   by
                   their
                   Appearances
                   ;
                
                 
                   My
                   Quality
                   I
                   may
                   in
                   time
                   Disclose
                   ,
                
                 
                   But
                   till
                   I
                   know
                   your
                   Name
                   ,
                   we
                   must
                   be
                   Foes
                   .
                
              
               
                 
                   Darby
                   .
                
                 
                   Since
                   Choler
                   o're
                   your
                   Reason
                   does
                   prevail
                   ,
                
                 
                   I
                   'll
                   Humour
                   you
                   ,
                   —
                   My
                   Name
                   is
                   Darby-Ale
                   .
                
              
               
                 
                   Claret
                   .
                
                 
                   Your
                   Servant
                   ;
                   Are
                   you
                   then
                   that
                   
                     Mighty
                     Sir
                  
                   ,
                
                 
                   Who
                   have
                   so
                   lately
                   made
                   so
                   great
                   a
                   Stir
                   ?
                
                 
                   You
                   and
                   your
                   Cousin
                   German
                   Nottingham
                   ,
                
                 
                   Had
                   so
                   ingrost
                   the
                   Breath
                   of
                   airy
                   Fame
                   ,
                
                 
                   That
                   all
                   the
                   Coffee-Houses
                   of
                   the
                   Town
                   ,
                
                 
                   Did
                   you
                   their
                   Tutelary
                   Angel
                   own
                   ;
                
                 
                   Nay
                   more
                   ,
                   your
                   boldness
                   grew
                   to
                   such
                   a
                   height
                   ,
                
                 
                   That
                   you
                   presum'd
                   at
                   last
                   t'
                   invade
                   my
                   Right
                   .
                
              
            
          
           
             Well
             said
             
               Old
               Straw-bottle
            
             ,
             there
             's
             an
             Action
             good
             in
             Law
             ,
             and
             faith
             I
             'll
             lay
             twenty
             Pound
             thou
             carryest
             it
             .
          
           
             
               
                 
                   Darby
                   .
                
                 
                   My
                   Country
                   Breeding
                   is
                   I
                   must
                   confess
                   ,
                
                 
                   As
                   yet
                   not
                   Polisht
                   with
                   a
                   fine
                   Address
                   :
                
                 
                   I
                   know
                   no
                   wrong
                   I
                   've
                   done
                   .
                   —
                   But
                   taxt
                   by
                   you
                   ,
                
                 
                   'T
                   is
                   fit
                   your
                   Name
                   and
                   Quality
                   I
                   knew
                   ,
                
                 
                 
                   That
                   I
                   may
                   either
                   Vindicate
                   the
                   Action
                   ,
                
                 
                   Or
                   else
                   Submit
                   and
                   give
                   you
                   Satisfaction
                   .
                
              
               
                 
                   Claret
                   .
                
                 
                   
                     Spoke
                     like
                     a
                     Spark
                  
                   ;
                   but
                   since
                   I
                   stoop
                   so
                   low
                   ,
                
                 
                   To
                   let
                   thy
                   Little
                   Self
                   my
                   Title
                   know
                   :
                
                 
                   Prepare
                   thy
                   Ears
                   ,
                   and
                   Tremble
                   when
                   you
                   hear
                   it
                   ,
                
                 
                   I
                   am
                   the
                   most
                   Immortal
                   Liquor
                   Claret
                   ,
                
                 
                   Sent
                   down
                   to
                   be
                   a
                   Charm
                   for
                   mortal
                   Cares
                   ,
                
                 
                   Son
                   of
                   the
                   Sun
                   ,
                   and
                   Brother
                   to
                   the
                   Stars
                   .
                
              
            
          
           
             That
             's
             a
             Line
             I
             have
             read
             in
             some
             Play
             or
             other
             ;
             but
             however
             't
             is
             well
             enough
             applyed
             here
             .
          
           
             
               
                 
                   Darby
                   .
                
                 
                   I
                   'm
                   glad
                   I
                   know
                   you
                   ,
                   High
                   and
                   Mighty
                   Sir
                   ;
                
                 
                   Think
                   you
                   your
                   pompous
                   empty
                   Name
                   could
                   stir
                
                 
                   My
                   Choler
                   ?
                   No
                   ,
                   your
                   Title
                   makes
                   me
                   fear
                   ,
                
                 
                   As
                   much
                   as
                   if
                   you
                   'd
                   been
                   
                     Six
                     Shilling
                     Beer
                  
                   .
                
              
               
                 
                   Claret
                   .
                
                 
                   Thou
                   
                     Son
                     of
                     Earth
                  
                   ,
                   thou
                   dull
                   insipid
                   thing
                   ,
                
                 
                   To
                   Level
                   me
                   ,
                   who
                   am
                   of
                   Liquors
                   King
                   ,
                
                 
                   With
                   lean
                   
                     Small
                     Beer
                  
                   ,
                   but
                   that
                   thou
                   art
                   not
                   worth
                
                 
                   My
                   Anger
                   ,
                   else
                   I
                   'de
                   frown
                   thee
                   into
                   Earth
                   .
                
              
               
                 
                   Darby
                   .
                
                 
                   I
                   neither
                   fear
                   your
                   Frown
                   ,
                   nor
                   court
                   your
                   Smile
                   :
                
                 
                   But
                   if
                   I
                   'm
                   not
                   mistaken
                   all
                   this
                   while
                   ,
                
                 
                   By
                   other
                   Names
                   than
                   Claret
                   you
                   are
                   known
                   .
                
              
               
                 
                   Claret
                   .
                
                 
                   You
                   do
                   not
                   hear
                   me
                   Sir
                   the
                   Fact
                   disown
                   ,
                
                 
                   Some
                   call
                   me
                   Barcelona
                   ,
                   some
                   Navar
                   ,
                
                 
                   Some
                   Syracuse
                   ;
                   but
                   at
                   the
                   Vintners
                   Bar
                
                 
                   My
                   Name
                   's
                   
                     Red
                     Port
                  
                   :
                   But
                   call
                   me
                   what
                   they
                   will
                   ,
                
                 
                   Claret
                   I
                   am
                   ,
                   and
                   will
                   be
                   Claret
                   still
                   .
                
              
               
                 
                   Darby
                   .
                
                 
                   So
                   needy
                   Sparks
                   by
                   several
                   Names
                   are
                   known
                   :
                
                 
                   It
                   argues
                   Knav'ry
                   to
                   have
                   more
                   than
                   one
                   .
                
                 
                   None
                   knows
                   in
                   private
                   what
                   the
                   Vinters
                   do
                   ,
                
                 
                   But
                   there
                   's
                   some
                   Roguery
                   hatcht
                   between
                   you
                   two
                   ,
                
                 
                   Those
                   
                     Sons
                     of
                     Bacchus
                  
                   else
                   could
                   never
                   hold
                   :
                
                 
                   Why
                   ?
                   There
                   's
                   more
                   Wine
                   by
                   Name
                   of
                   Claret
                   sold
                
                 
                   One
                   Month
                   in
                   London
                   ,
                   than
                   a
                   man
                   can
                   guess
                
                 
                   To
                   be
                   the
                   Product
                   of
                   three
                   Vintages
                   .
                
              
            
          
        
         
           
           
             1
             
               st
               Gent.
            
             
          
           
             There
             I
             think
             he
             is
             pretty
             even
             with
             him
             ,
             for
             the
             Vintners
             do
             certainly
             play
             the
             Devil
             in
             their
             Cellars
             ;
             and
             therefore
             't
             was
             no
             ill
             Joke
             when
             a
             
               Brewers
               Servant
            
             meeting
             a
             Vintner
             of
             his
             acquaintance
             ,
             bid
             him
             
               Good
               morrow
               Brother
               Brewer
            
             .
          
        
         
           
             2
             
               d
               Gent.
            
             
          
           
             You
             have
             heard
             the
             Plaintiff
             ,
             and
             't
             would
             be
             unjust
             not
             to
             hear
             the
             Defendant
             too
             .
             —
             
               Let
               me
               read
               on
            
             .
          
           
             
               
                 
                   Claret
                   .
                
                 
                   Offspring
                   of
                   Element
                   and
                   Grains
                   forbear
                   ,
                
                 
                   And
                   press
                   not
                   too
                   Inquisitively
                   near
                
                 
                   Our
                   Mysteries
                   :
                   For
                   't
                   is
                   not
                   fit
                   you
                   know
                   ,
                
                 
                   What
                   my
                   old
                   Friend
                   the
                   Vintner
                   and
                   I
                   do
                   .
                
                 
                   What
                   Racks
                   and
                   Tortures
                   ere
                   I
                   undergo
                   ,
                
                 
                   That
                   't
                   is
                   for
                   my
                   amendment
                   done
                   I
                   know
                   ;
                
                 
                   And
                   I
                   appear
                   all
                   fine
                   at
                   
                     Iovial
                     Club.
                  
                   
                
              
               
                 
                   Darby
                   .
                
                 
                   As
                   
                     Fluxing
                     Sinner
                  
                   rose
                   from
                   Sweating-Tub
                   :
                
                 
                   The
                   diff'rence
                   only
                   lies
                   between
                   you
                   two
                   ,
                
                 
                   He
                   is
                   by
                   Mercury
                   Cur'd
                   ,
                   by
                   Brimstone
                   you
                   .
                
              
            
          
        
         
           
             1
             
               st
               Gent.
            
             
          
           
             There
             I
             think
             
               Old
               Darby
            
             has
             given
             him
             a
             home
             thrust
             :
             Come
             ,
             here
             's
             one
             Health
             of
             Remembrance
             to
             all
             our
             Friends
             in
             the
             North
             for
             that
             Jokes
             sake
             .
          
        
         
           
             2
             
               d
               Gent.
            
             
          
           
             'T
             is
             a
             rude
             kind
             of
             Jest
             tho
             ,
             just
             like
             his
             breeding
             :
             But
             I
             'll
             read
             on
             .
          
           
             
               
                 
                   Claret
                   .
                
                 
                   
                     Dull
                     Slave
                  
                   ,
                   thy
                   empty
                   foolish
                   Puns
                   forbear
                   ,
                
                 
                   Know
                   that
                   more
                   Virtue
                   in
                   this
                   Flask
                   I
                   bear
                   ,
                
                 
                   To
                   chear
                   the
                   Blood
                   ,
                   and
                   make
                   the
                   Spirits
                   Quicker
                   ,
                
                 
                   Than
                   is
                   in
                   Tuns
                   of
                   thy
                   Insipid
                   Liquor
                   .
                
              
               
                 
                   Darby
                   .
                
                 
                   What
                   mighty
                   Difference
                   lies
                   between
                   us
                   two
                   ?
                
                 
                   I
                   warm
                   the
                   Blood
                   as
                   much
                   ,
                   or
                   more
                   than
                   you
                   .
                
              
               
                 
                   Claret
                   .
                
                 
                   You
                   warm
                   the
                   Blood
                   !
                   You
                   put
                   it
                   in
                   a
                   Flame
                   ,
                
                 
                   While
                   I
                   with
                   gentle
                   Fires
                   just
                   Heat
                   the
                   same
                   :
                
                 
                   What
                   Man
                   with
                   Thee
                   one
                   Ev'nings
                   brunt
                   has
                   stood
                   ,
                
                 
                   But
                   rose
                   with
                   Aking-Head
                   and
                   
                     Fev'rish
                     Blood
                  
                   ?
                
                 
                 
                   Whereas
                   my
                   Friends
                   could
                   no
                   such
                   Symptoms
                   Mark
                   ,
                
                 
                   But
                   rise
                   next
                   Morning
                   Chearful
                   as
                   the
                   Lark
                   .
                
              
               
                 
                   Darby
                   .
                
                 
                   Could
                   you
                   Examin
                   
                   Pluto's
                   
                     Weekly
                     Bill
                  
                   ,
                
                 
                   You
                   'd
                   find
                   amongst
                   those
                   Crouds
                   his
                   Caverns
                   fill
                   ,
                
                 
                   Forty
                   by
                   Drinking
                   Wine
                   that
                   thither
                   came
                   ,
                
                 
                   For
                   one
                   ,
                   by
                   
                     Darby
                     Ale
                  
                   and
                   Nottingham
                   .
                
              
               
                 
                   Claret
                   .
                
                 
                   Are
                   you
                   his
                   Register
                   ,
                   so
                   well
                   you
                   know
                
                 
                   The
                   state
                   of
                   the
                   Departed
                   Souls
                   below
                   ?
                
                 
                   I
                   thought
                   that
                   secret
                   had
                   belong'd
                   to
                   Fate
                   ,
                
                 
                   But
                   Fools
                   of
                   things
                   above
                   them
                   sometimes
                   prate
                   .
                
              
               
                 
                   Darby
                   .
                
                 
                   Since
                   you
                   are
                   mov'd
                   ,
                   we
                   'll
                   choose
                   another
                   Theam
                   ,
                
                 
                   My
                   want
                   of
                   Spirit
                   sure
                   you
                   wont
                   Condemn
                   ;
                
                 
                   I
                   warm
                   the
                   Blood
                   ,
                   and
                   Doctors
                   all
                   agree
                   ,
                
                 
                   When
                   that
                   is
                   brisk
                   ,
                   the
                   Spirits
                   must
                   be
                   free
                   .
                
              
               
                 
                   Claret
                   .
                
                 
                   With
                   senseless
                   Jests
                   ,
                   and
                   farfetcht
                   Repartee
                   ,
                
                 
                   For
                   sure
                   no
                   other
                   Wit
                   was
                   caus'd
                   by
                   thee
                   ;
                
                 
                   The
                   Blood
                   indeed
                   you
                   Warm
                   with
                   Poysonous
                   Fire
                   ,
                
                 
                   But
                   I
                   yet
                   never
                   heard
                   you
                   could
                   Inspire
                   ,
                
                 
                   Except
                   some
                   Smithfield
                   Poets
                   when
                   they
                   Write
                   ,
                
                 
                   And
                   sad
                   and
                   Lamentable
                   Songs
                   Indite
                   ;
                
                 
                   For
                   I
                   have
                   heard
                   when
                   liberal
                   Draughts
                   of
                   Thee
                   ,
                
                 
                   Have
                   warm'd
                   the
                   Brains
                   that
                   kept
                   thee
                   Company
                   ;
                
                 
                   Such
                   senseless
                   Strains
                   pass
                   currently
                   for
                   Wit
                   ,
                
                 
                   As
                   
                     Irish
                     Teague
                  
                   ne're
                   spoke
                   ,
                   nor
                   
                     Saff
                     —
                     ld
                  
                   Writ
                   ;
                
                 
                   Whereas
                   the
                   Friends
                   that
                   Hug
                   me
                   every
                   Night
                   ,
                
                 
                   (
                   Not
                   measuring
                   time
                   by
                   Hours
                   ,
                   but
                   by
                   Delight
                
                 
                   Are
                   men
                   of
                   sense
                   ,
                   deep
                   Judgment
                   ,
                   Fancy
                   ,
                   Wit
                   ;
                
                 
                   When
                   they
                   'bout
                   me
                   in
                   Consultation
                   sit
                   ,
                
                 
                   Each
                   Glass
                   creates
                   some
                   pretty
                   Virgin
                   Thought
                   ,
                
                 
                   Which
                   but
                   for
                   me
                   had
                   ne're
                   to
                   light
                   been
                   brought
                   ;
                
                 
                   For
                   
                     Poets
                     ,
                     Lawyers
                     ,
                     Orators
                  
                   confess
                   ,
                
                 
                   Their
                   words
                   appear
                   in
                   the
                   most
                   charming
                   Dress
                   ,
                
                 
                   When
                   they
                   of
                   me
                   have
                   took
                   a
                   plenteous
                   Glass
                   ;
                
                 
                   If
                   this
                   be
                   true
                   ,
                   Faith
                   Darby
                   thou
                   r't
                   an
                   Ass.
                   
                
              
               
                 
                   Darby
                   .
                
                 
                   How
                   strangely
                   you
                   Insult
                   and
                   Domineer
                   ,
                
                 
                   You
                   Foreign
                   Born
                   ,
                   and
                   I
                   a
                   Native
                   here
                   .
                
                 
                 
                   I
                   thought
                   
                     French
                     Breeding
                  
                   was
                   more
                   Civiliz'd
                   .
                
              
               
                 
                   Claret
                   .
                
                 
                   You
                   
                     Scoundrel
                     Dog
                  
                   ,
                   am
                   I
                   not
                   Nat'ralliz'd
                   ?
                
                 
                   The
                   greatest
                   part
                   o'
                   th'
                   Nation
                   own
                   my
                   Iuice
                   ,
                
                 
                   While
                   they
                   with
                   Justice
                   Foggy-Ale
                   refuse
                   .
                
              
               
                 
                   Darby
                   .
                
                 
                   But
                   
                     Acts
                     of
                     Parliament
                  
                   'gainst
                   you
                   are
                   made
                   .
                
              
               
                 
                   Claret
                   .
                
                 
                   What
                   seem'd
                   to
                   Crush
                   has
                   but
                   advanc'd
                   my
                   Trade
                   .
                
              
               
                 
                   Darby
                   .
                
                 
                   Then
                   you
                   it
                   seems
                   (
                   so
                   very
                   great
                   your
                   sense
                   is
                   )
                
                 
                   Are
                   above
                   Law
                   ,
                   as
                   Saints
                   'bove
                   Ordinances
                   ;
                
                 
                   But
                   there
                   may
                   come
                   a
                   time
                   —
                
              
               
                 
                   Claret
                   .
                
                 
                   —
                   When
                   you
                   shall
                   be
                   ,
                
                 
                   Loaded
                   with
                   shame
                   ,
                   disgrace
                   and
                   infamy
                   .
                
                 
                   Back
                   to
                   thy
                   Native
                   Soyl
                   ,
                   return
                   again
                   ,
                
                 
                   While
                   I
                   my
                   Grandeur
                   and
                   my
                   Pomp
                   maintain
                   ;
                
                 
                   Thy
                   Credit
                   's
                   clearly
                   lost
                   about
                   the
                   Town
                   ,
                
                 
                   And
                   none
                   but
                   Red
                   nos'd
                   Sots
                   thy
                   Power
                   own
                   ,
                
                 
                   Else
                   in
                   Gazetts
                   and
                   Advertisements
                   ,
                   you
                
                 
                   Would
                   ne're
                   have
                   begg'd
                   for
                   Custom
                   ;
                   Is
                   this
                   true
                   ?
                
              
               
                 
                   Darby
                   .
                
                 
                   Perhaps
                   it
                   may
                   ,
                   perhaps
                   it
                   may
                   be
                   not
                   ,
                
                 
                   May
                   racking
                   
                     Gouts
                     ,
                     Pains
                     ,
                     Aches
                  
                   ,
                   be
                   the
                   Lot
                
                 
                   Of
                   him
                   that
                   Drinks
                   thee
                   ,
                   may
                   he
                   more
                   be
                   Curst
                
                 
                   With
                   
                     Fev'rish
                     Heats
                  
                   ,
                   and
                   an
                   
                     Eternal
                     Thirst
                  
                   ,
                
                 
                   Till
                   
                     Raving
                     Madness
                  
                   him
                   of
                   Sense
                   bereave
                   ;
                
                 
                   So
                   with
                   these
                   Hearty
                   Prayers
                   I
                   take
                   my
                   Leave
                   .
                
              
               
                 
                   Claret
                   .
                
                 
                   What
                   ,
                   Angry
                   Darby
                   ?
                   Nay
                   ,
                   before
                   you
                   go
                   ,
                
                 
                   Pray
                   be
                   so
                   kind
                   to
                   hear
                   my
                   Wishes
                   too
                   :
                
                 
                   May
                   
                     Rhumes
                     ,
                     Catarrhs
                     ,
                     Defluctions
                  
                   light
                   upon
                
                 
                   Thy
                   Favorites
                   ;
                   but
                   chiefly
                   let
                   the
                   Stone
                
                 
                   Oppress
                   them
                   so
                   ,
                   that
                   in
                   their
                   Fits
                   they
                   may
                   ,
                
                 
                   To
                   go
                   to
                   Hell
                   for
                   Ease
                   ,
                   devoutly
                   Pray
                   ;
                
                 
                   May
                   Palsies
                   rack
                   their
                   Joynts
                   ,
                   sharp
                   Pains
                   their
                   Head
                   ,
                
                 
                   And
                   not
                   one
                   part
                   about
                   their
                   Bodies
                   Freed
                
                 
                   From
                   Misery
                   .
                   —
                   And
                   so
                   farewel
                   Old-Darby
                   ,
                
                 
                   Born
                   at
                   the
                   Peak
                   ,
                   or
                   else
                   the
                   
                     Devil's
                     Ass
                     Hard-by
                  
                   .
                
              
               
                 Exeunt
                 .
              
            
          
        
         
           
             2
             
               d
               Gent.
            
             
          
           
             What
             think
             you
             now
             Will
             ,
             who
             has
             got
             the
             better
             on
             't
             ?
          
        
         
           
           
             1
             
               st
               Gent.
            
             
          
           
             They
             seem
             to
             be
             pretty
             equally
             Matcht
             ;
             but
             I
             believe
             the
             Poet
             Loves
             Claret
             ,
             he
             seems
             to
             be
             so
             favourable
             to
             that
             side
             .
          
        
         
           
             2
             
               d
               Gent.
            
             
          
           
             He
             's
             much
             in
             the
             right
             on
             't
             ,
             for
             Faith
             Will
             that
             Ale
             you
             Drink
             is
             a
             most
             ●ulsom
             Liquor
             :
             Let
             me
             feel
             your
             Pulse
             .
             —
             Lord
             !
             How
             hot
             you
             are
             ?
             and
             your
             Face
             looks
             as
             Red
             as
             the
             Moon
             in
             Eclipse
             .
             —
             I
             am
             resolv'd
             to
             undertake
             thy
             Conversion
             ,
             and
             bring
             thee
             over
             to
             the
             Faith
             again
             ;
             and
             to
             morrow
             we
             'll
             Dine
             at
             the
             Rummer
             in
             Queen-street
             and
             swim
             in
             Claret
             .
          
        
         
           
             1
             
               st
               Gent.
            
             
          
           
             I
             begin
             to
             be
             a
             little
             Sensible
             of
             my
             Mistake
             ;
             but
             since
             I
             am
             under
             no
             Vow
             ,
             Wager
             ,
             nor
             Obligation
             ,
             for
             once
             I
             'll
             venture
             upon
             
               One
               Pint
            
             to
             morrow
             ,
             but
             it
             will
             be
             as
             odd
             and
             nauseous
             to
             me
             at
             first
             ,
             as
             the
             Bitter
             Draught
             is
             to
             Children
             troubled
             with
             the
             Worms
             .
          
        
         
           
             2
             
               d
               Gent.
            
             
          
           
             Never
             think
             on
             't
             .
             —
             Let
             the
             first
             Pint
             be
             what
             it
             will
             ,
             the
             second
             shall
             absolutely
             recover
             thee
             from
             thy
             Dangerous
             Heresy
             .
             —
             I
             am
             sorry
             tho
             ,
             we
             must
             Part
             so
             soon
             ;
             but
             I
             have
             some
             business
             in
             the
             City
             ,
             and
             fear
             I
             have
             out-staid
             my
             time
             .
          
        
         
           
             1
             
               st
               Gent.
            
             
          
           
             I
             am
             sure
             I
             am
             not
             very
             fit
             for
             business
             of
             any
             sort
             ,
             this
             Ale
             has
             got
             into
             my
             Head
             ,
             I
             'le
             go
             to
             the
             Playhouse
             to
             keep
             my self
             out
             of
             bad
             Company
             .
          
        
         
           
             2
             
               nd
               Gent.
            
             
          
           
             A
             pleasant
             thought
             .
             —
             Then
             till
             to
             morrow
             Adieu
             .
          
        
         
           
             1
             
               st
               Gent.
            
             
          
           
             I
             will
             not
             fail
             .
             —
             Here
             Boy
             ,
             Take
             your
             Mony
          
        
         
           FINIS
           .
        
      
    
     
       
         
           ADVERTISEMENTS
           .
        
         
           THe
           Folly
           of
           Love
           :
           A
           Satyr
           against
           Women
           .
           A
           Poem
           .
        
         
           The
           Siege
           and
           Surrender
           of
           Mons
           :
           A
           Tragi-Comedy
           .
           Exposing
           the
           Villany
           of
           the
           Priests
           ,
           and
           the
           Intriegues
           of
           the
           French.
           
        
         
           The
           Pleasures
           of
           Love
           and
           Marriage
           :
           A
           Poem
           in
           Praise
           of
           the
           Fair
           Sex.
           In
           Requital
           for
           the
           Folly
           of
           Love
           ,
           and
           some
           other
           late
           Styrs
           on
           Women
           .
        
         
      
    
  

