Sir HUDIBRAS TO THE VINTNERS: A satire on their Adulterated Dear WINES.  

— Scelus est jugulare Falernum,  
Et dare Campano Toxica saeva Mero.   marshal. 

FOr sharpest Vinegar and bitterest gull,  
The abused and incensed Muses Call;  
For Wines have lost their virtue and their force,  
The Wits must seek some purer limpid source;  
Bacchus hath Deity and Altars lost,  
Nor will his Worship quit the high-priz'd Cost;  
The adult'rous mixture with the noble Grape,  
Like the base issue of a Mongril Rape  
Doth quiter degenerate from the genuine rase,  
And the high blood in that rich juice debase.   

No more shall Poets their Parnassian Fount,  
And crystal Springs that bless that sacred Mount  
Divinest Nectar and Ambrosian Drink  
In high flown fancies humble to this Sink  
And Common-shore of liquours, which we Sup  
With foul Ingredients in every Cup.  
Thus Sack which was the universal Cure,  
Nothing so Sov'rain, so safe, and sure;  
Is now become the epidemic Ill,  
The Common ruin, which all sorts doth kill.  
Pandora's Box was with less mischief fraught,  
Then we have in a Vintner's Bottle brought;  
In which there doth such lime and sulphur dwell,  
That it's a Wonder how this Mortar Shell  
Breaks not to pieces, nor with noise and wounds,  
Instead of Burning fevers men confounds.   

And sure the glass, that's to this use designed  
Is with more Art and Roguery calcined;  
Nor is with Sense Antipathetick blessed,  
As rather then endure the poisonous test,  
To burst in sunder, giving us to see  
The one's Malignance, that's Philanthrope.  
And a new sort of Pestilence now reigns,  
And principally doth infect the Brains.  
Hence come the quarrels and the private Jars,  
In imitation of the belgic Wars  
Wherein the Soldier to the battle runs  
fired 'd by that Powder, which does load the Guns.  
So our late frequent Duels do imply,  
That in our Sack Contagion doth lie;  
Which like infected air ill vapours takes,  
And them a Compound of destruction makes,  
To so great danger, that there needs be put  
Have mercy Lord o'th' Bung of every But.   

Nor have we fared better since our Wines,  
Were ranted to maintain rebellious Times:  
That what our Luxury could not advance,  
Disloyalty and Treason might enhance;  
When Parallel to the Cheats upon the State,  
The Vintners first 'gan to Sophisticate;  
And noise of Cannon like to Thunder cracks,  
That sour the Ale, did sweeten all our Sacks;   

This was th' effect of the Dutch Devil Excise,  
That raised the Wines from their first modest price,  
And made the Vintners study and contrive  
A means to pay this Gabel, and yet thrive;  
And therefore whence the mischief first was brought,  
Thence Remedy worse then Disease was sought:  
Stums and Molossus, and like brewing trash,  
And all their deadly Arts of Balderdash  
Were practised, and yet our wanton purse  
Must dearer pay for what grows worse and worse;  
Wretchedly mad, like Hatchet after Helve,  
From 6 w' have been strappado'd up to Twelve.   

Nor will this serve; but if a neater piece,  
Such as adored by old Rome and Greece,  
Whose secret power awed their impious Art,  
Be set for sacrificing draughts apart:  
Then to fill up the measure of their Sin,  
The Pot's not filled up to the neck o'th' Brim;  
Which Hocus Drawer with a nimble pass,  
Doth indiscovered turn into the glass;  
So where in quality they don't offend,  
The less'ned quantum shall their loss amend.   

Here I could mention Bottles of a Quart,  
Which of a due half pint are often short:  
But not to urge that more gentle deceit,  
Look to a monstrous and a popular cheat;  
Pots girdled in the middle with a ring  
As a new Ornament, these Whipsters bring,  
Which having passed the Seal at top, who'd think,  
Or would suspect false measure in the Drink?  
But common lewdest Strumpets we see dare  
Avouch they honest 'bove the Girdle are.  
But who shall view their bottoms, and compare  

This is a new but common cheat as hath been experimented in several Taverns and Companies.  This Artifice with other Peuterers ware,  
Shall find them sawed and soddered anew,  
And a big Glass full wanting of the due.  
Their other private frauds I must omit,  
And leave them to a vexed fresher Wit.   
FINIS.   

LONDON, Printed for R. L. 1663.