"Trowl the black bowl to me,
        Trowl the black bowl to me;”

for a hundred to one but they will all be drunk, ere they go to bed.  Yet of a slavering fool, that hath no conceit in anything but in carrying a wand in his hand with commendation, when he runneth by the highway-side, this stripling Harvest hath done reasonable well.  O, that somebody had the sense to set his thatched suit on fire, and so lighted him out:  if I had but a jet[81] ring on my finger, I might have done with him what I list.  I had spoiled him, had I[82] took his apparel prisoner; for, it being made of straw, and the nature of jet to draw straw unto it, I would have nailed him to the pommel of my chair, till the play were done, and then have carried him to my chamber-door, and laid him at the threshold, as a wisp or a piece of mat, to wipe my shoes on every time I come up dirty.

SUM.  Vertumnus, call Bacchus.

VER.  Bacchus, Baccha, Bacchum:  God Bacchus, God fat-back,
Baron of double beer and bottle ale,
Come in and show thy nose that is nothing pale: 
Back, back, that[83] God barrel-belly may enter.

Enter BACCHUS riding upon an ass trapped in ivy, himself dressed in vine leaves, and a garland of grapes on his head; his companions having all jacks in their hands, and ivy garlands on their heads; they come singing.

    The Song.

    Monsieur Mingo for quaffing doth surpass,
    In cup, in corn or glass. 
    God Bacchus, do me right,
    And dub me knight
                    Domingo_.[84]

BAC.  Wherefore didst thou call me, Vertumnus? hast any drink to give me?  One of you hold my ass, while I light:  walk him up and down the hall, till I talk a word or two.

SUM.  What, Bacchus; still animus in patina:[85] no mind but on the pot?

BAC.  Why, Summer, Summer, how wouldst do but for rain?  What’s a fair house without water coming to it!  Let me see how a smith can work, if he have not his trough standing by him.  What sets an edge on a knife? the grindstone alone?  No, the moist element poured upon it, which grinds out all gaps, sets a point upon it, and scours it as bright as the firmament.  So I tell thee, give a soldier wine before he goes to battle; it grinds out all gaps, it makes him forget all scars and wounds, and fight in the thickest of his enemies, as though he were but at foils among his fellows.  Give a scholar wine going to his book, or being about to invent; it sets a new point on his wit, it glazeth it, it scours it, it gives him acumen.  Plato saith, Vinum esse fomitem quendam, et incitabilem ingenii virtutisque.  Aristotle saith, Nulla est magna scientia absque mixtura dementia!  There is no excellent knowledge without mixture of madness, and what makes a man more mad in the head than wine? Qui bene vult [Greek:  Pioein] debet ante [Greek:  pinein]:  He that will do well must drink well. Prome, prome, potum prome!  Ho, butler, a fresh pot! Nunc est libendum, nunc pede libero terra pulsanda:[86] a pox on him that leaves his drink behind him. Rendezvous!