Classic Poem

In 1643
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 aske your reason, for 'twas gone;
Nor had you sence enough to feel you'd none.
Was it to shew your Mistress you could fight?
Living i'th' woods, you'ld be an arrant 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 wild man both in your looks and deeds.
By th'wonders of your drinking men may see,
You are a Hero without Chevalry.
You thought a duel, would your Mistress 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 subtile sophistry, that when you mist
In words, you would confute me with your fist.
But such weak sillogismes from you ran,
As I could never read in Keckerman .
That brain-aspiring drink, so much did nip us,
You mistook Aristotle , for Aristippus .
'Twas this your brains with Proclamations fills,
And twirles them like Don Quixots watermils.
Your head that should be King, was now pull'd down,
While that rebellious beer usurp'd your crown.
And your Mechanick heels gaz'd on the stars,
As if they went to turn Astronomers
Your legs were altogether for Commanding,
And taught your foolish head more understanding.
Your body so revers'd, did represent,
(Being forked) our bicorned 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 returned your knife, at your demand,
But if I've put a sword t'a mad mans hand,
Let me advice you, when you fight again,
Fight with a worse, or be a better man.