2 SCHOLAR

Quench thy sorrows in a Can, Diddle diddle do. Compossibilitas? Why, that's nothing man, when you never drink beyond your poculum necessitatis, you are in gradum in compossibili to all good fellowship: Come, hang Scotus, wee'll led you to Aristippus, one Epitome of his in quarto, is worth a volume of these Dunces. No it must be real quid, & extra intellectum. Kiss the book. Kiss the book. It is ultimum Sir. I but therefore you are sworn to keep customs, Non omnino secundum formam statuti. You interrupt him Sir, too much in his Lecture, and prevent your ears of their hoppinesse. And the best Artillery yard is the Dolphin. Therefore why should a man trouble himself with so much earth? he is the best Philosopher, that can omniam suam secum portare. Fill me a Bowl of Sack with Roses crowned, Fill't to the brim, I'll have my temples bound With flowery Chaplets, and this day permit My Genius to be free, and frolic it; Let me drink deep, then fully warmed with wine, Ill' chant Aeneas praise, that every line Shall prove immortal, till my moistened quill Melt into verse; and Nectar-like distil; I'm sad, or dull, till bowls brim filled infuse New life in me, new spirit in my Muse, But once revived with Sack, pleasing desires In my childhood kindle such Active fires, That my grey hairs seem fled, my wrinkled face, Grown smooth as Hebes, youth, and beauty's grace, To my shrunk veins, fresh blood and spirits bring, Warm as the Summer, sprightful as the spring, Then all the world is mine: Croesus is poor Compared with me, he is rich that asks no more: And I in Sack have all, which is to me My home, my life, health, wealth, and liberty, Then have I conquered all, I boldly dare My Trophies with the Pelcan youth compare, Him I will equal, as his sword, my pen My conquered world of cares, his world of men, Do not, Atrides, Nestor's ten desire But ten such drinkers as that aged sire, His stream of ho yed words flowed from the Wine, And Sack his counsel was, as he was thine. Who u r purchased a rich Indiaen mine, But Bacchus first, and next the Spanish wine? Then fill my bowl, that if I die to morrow, Killing cares to day, I have outlived my sorrow. Sleep to night! why? that's no point of our Phi losophy; we must fit up late, and roar till we rattle the Well kin: Sleep! what have we to do with death's Cater-cou sin? do you think Nature gave stars to sleep by? have you not day enough to sleep in, but you must sleep in the night too? it's and arrant Paradox. Why, a pox of the morning, what have we to do with the sober time of the day? Why? conferring of notes, is drinking off cups, half pots are saying of parts, and the singing of Catches is our repetition. Faith, let me have it, let's share and share Like boon Rascals. By my troath, and you have a good memory, you have coned it quickly Sir. I, what for repetitions? Very likely so, and Cures in England, that will not be believed beyond seas, nor here neither, for in this kind, half the world are infidels. Some of that you mean, that stuck on the bull let which you took out of Sherleyes legs. I, and close up the Bunghole in the great Tub at Heidlebergh, I warrant you. I easily believe that I faith. And yet had as much left, as served five Cardinals on Fasting-dais. No, pardon us Signior, only the danger our Tu tor is in, makes us so suspicious; we know your skill Sir, we have herd Spain and your own tongue speak loud on't, we know beside, that you are a Traveler, and therefore give you leave to relate your words with authority. There is no such great wonder in that, but what may be believed. One that hath ingrossed all Arts to himself, as if he had the Monopoly. And Spittle-house of infirmities, Signior de Me dico Campo. Yea, he is able to give his skill to whom he please, by Act of deed, or bequeathe it by Legacy, but he is determi ned as yet to intail it to his heirs males for ever. And he do's't with such celerity, that a hundred pieces of Ordinance in a pitched field, could not in a whole day make work enough to employ him and hour; you owe him your life Sir, I'll assure you. 'Twere charity in him to sconce'vm soundly, they would have but a poor Quantum else. Hee'll make the eyes of your understanding see double, and teach you to speak fluently, and utter your mind in a bundance. And as merry a man: There can be no Feast, but he is sent for, and all the company are the merrier for him. We will, brave boy: and when you have seen him, yowl think your self in another world, and scorn to be your own man any longer. A diligent Lecturer deserves eight pence a Pint tuition: Nay, if you will learn any thing, Scholarships must be paid for. Academical Simony is lawful: Nay did you ever hear of a good Preacher in a fat Benefice, unless his purse were the leaner for it? Make much of him, for we shall have no more such in haste. I have herd him swear by his horaoctaua, that Sack and Rosa Solis is but Water-gruel to it.