SONG OF EIGHT ALES
We went into the house of one John Pinners,
(A man that lives among a crew of sinners)
And there eight several sorts of Ale we had,
All able to make one starke drunke or mad
But I with courage bravely flinched not,
And gave the Towne leave to discharge the shot,
We had at one time set upon the table,
Good Ale of Hisope, 'twas not Esope fable:
Then had we Ale of Sage, and Ale of Malt,
And Ale of Woorme-wood, that could make one halt,
With Ale of Rosemary, and Bettony,
And two Ales more, or else I needs must lye.
But to conclude this drinking Alye tale,
We had a sort of Ale called scurvy Ale.
—John Taylor, Pennyless Pilgrimage, ca. 1620279