that was far delicater, and that he would far esteem beyond this.  Nevertheless he acknowledges this to be very good.  But the pint being out, the first word is, Hangt, What goes upon one leg?  Draws t’other pint of the same Wine. And then they begin to find that the longer they drink, the better it tasts; which is an undeniable sign that it is pure good Wine.  And this pint being out again; presently saies the t’other, All good things consist in three: so that we must have the t’other pint.  Where upon the second saith, As soon as this is out, we will go with the relish of it in our mouths to Master Clean Pints, to tast his and this against each other.  I am contented, so said so done; and thus by the oftentimes tasting and retasting, they grow so mighty loving, that it is impossible for them to depart from one another, because they every foot say, they cannot part with an empty Pot, and this love in a few hours grows on so hot, that the love of the Wife is totally squencht; not only drawing men mightily out of their business, but keeping them late out from their families; and making them like incarnate Divels against their Wives.  From whence proceeds, that when they come either whole or half drunk home, there is nothing well to their minds, but they will find one thing or another to controul, bawl or chide with.

To these also may be adjoined those who generally resort to the Miter, Kings Arms, and Plume of Feathers, or some other places where they commonly make their bargains for buying and selling of Goods and Merchandizes; from whence they seldom come before they have spent a large reckoning, and lost more then three of their five sences; thinking themselves no less rich then they are wise; and ly then very subtlely upon the catch to overreach another in a good and advantagious bargain; by which means they themselves are somtimes catcht by the nose with a mouldly old sort of unknown commodity, that they may walk home with, by weeping cross; and next morning there they stand and look as if they had suckt their Dam through a hurdle, and know not which way to turn themselves with their Merchandize they have made; in this manner, bringing their Wives and Children (if they let them know it) into excessive inconveniences; and for all this want for nothing of grumbling and mumbling.

      Some sorts of men,
      Are Tyrants when,
    Their thirsty Souls are fill’d: 
      They scold sore hot
      Like Peep in th’ Pot
    And never can be still’d. 
      They talk and prate
      At such a rate,
    And think of nought but evil;
      They fight and brawl,
      And Wives do mawl,
    Though all run for the Divel. 
      But at their draugh,
      They quaff and laugh
    Amongst their fellow creatures. 
      They swear and tear
      And never fear
    Old Nick in his worst features. 
      Who would but say
      Then, by the way
    That Woman is distressed,
      Who must indure
      An Epicure
    With whom she’ll ne’r be blessed.