Epistle XVI. To a Potting Priest upon a Quarrel

I Cannot choose but wonder, Mr.——-
That we two wisemen, had so little wit,
As without quarrel, jealousies, or fears,
Worse then the times, we two should go by th' ears.
I marvel what inspir'd this valour in you,
Though you were weak, you'd something strong within you.
'Twas not your learning, neither can I think,
That 'twas your valour, but John D—-strong drink.
Love and good liquor, have a strong command,
T' make cowards fight, longer then they can stand.
I need not ask your reason, for 'twas gone;
Nor had you sense enough to feel you'd none:
Was it to shew your Mistress you could fight;
Living i'th woods, you'ld be an Errant Knight?
That Lady may have cause enough to rue,
That has no better Champion then you.
You might have sav'd that labour, each man reads.
You're a wilde man both in your looks and deeds:
By th' wonders of your drinking, men may see,
You are a Hero without Chivalry:
You thought a duel, would your Mrs. please,
But prov'd a Thraso, not an Hercules.
I might have thought my self a Worthy too,
Because I tam'd a Monster, that is you:
Your Zeal (me thought) was greatly kindled,
That went to make a Pulpit of my head.
Blame me not, though I strook, for I was vext,
To be so basely handled, like your Text;
With subtil Sophistry, that when you mist
In words, you would confute me with your fist:
But such weak Sillogisms from you ran,
As I could never read in Keckerman:
That brain-aspiring drink, so much did dip us,
You mistook Aristotle, for Aristippus.
Your head that should be King, was now pull'd down,
While that rebellious Beer usurp'd your crown:
And your Mechannick heels gaz'd on the stars,
As if they went to turn Astronsmers:
Your legs were altogether for commanding,
And taught your foolish head more understanding:
Your body so revers'd, did represent.
(Being forked) our bi-corned Government:
Your wits were banished, and your brains were drown'd,
While your Calves-head lay center'd to the ground:
Thus being black without, within a beast,
I took you for a Tinker, not a Priest.
In your next Sermon, let your audience hear,
How you can preach damnation to strong Beer.
I have return'd your knife at your demand;
But if I've put a sword t'a mad mans hand,
Let me advise you, when you fight again,
Fight with a worse, or be a better man.

In 1643.