A country fellow might as well return from London without looking in the face of majesty.

The men of Cumnor were proud of their Host, and their Host was proud of his house, his liquor, his daughter, and himself.
It was in the courtyard of the inn which called this honest fellow landlord, that a traveller alighted in the close of the evening, gave his horse, which seemed to have made a long journey, to the hostler, and made some inquiry, which produced the following dialogue betwixt the myrmidons of the bonny Black Bear.
"What, ho! John Tapster." "At hand, Will Hostler," replied the man of the spigot, showing himself in his costume of loose jacket, linen breeches, and green apron, half within and half without a door, which appeared to descend to an outer cellar.
"Here is a gentleman asks if you draw good ale," continued the hostler.
"Beshrew my heart else," answered the tapster, "since there are but four miles betwixt us and Oxford.

Marry, if my ale did not convince the heads of the scholars, they would soon convince my pate with the pewter flagon." "Call you that Oxford logic ?" said the stranger, who had now quitted the rein of his horse, and was advancing towards the inn-door, when he was encountered by the goodly form of Giles Gosling himself.
"Is it logic you talk of, Sir Guest ?" said the host; "why, then, have at you with a downright consequence-- 'The horse to the rack, And to fire with the sack.'" "Amen! with all my heart, my good host," said the stranger; "let it be a quart of your best Canaries, and give me your good help to drink it." "Nay, you are but in your accidence yet, Sir Traveller, if you call on your host for help for such a sipping matter as a quart of sack; Were it a gallon, you might lack some neighbouring aid at my hand, and yet call yourself a toper." "Fear me not." said the guest, "I will do my devoir as becomes a man who finds himself within five miles of Oxford; for I am not come from the field of Mars to discredit myself amongst the followers of Minerva." As he spoke thus, the landlord, with much semblance of hearty welcome, ushered his guest into a large, low chamber, where several persons were seated together in different parties--some drinking, some playing at cards, some conversing, and some, whose business called them to be early risers on the morrow, concluding their evening meal, and conferring with the chamberlain about their night's quarters.
The entrance of a stranger procured him that general and careless sort of attention which is usually paid on such occasions, from which the following results were deduced:--The guest was one of those who, with a well-made person, and features not in themselves unpleasing, are nevertheless so far from handsome that, whether from the expression of their features, or the tone of their voice, or from their gait and manner, there arises, on the whole, a disinclination to their society.
The stranger's address was bold, without being frank, and seemed eagerly and hastily to claim for him a degree of attention and deference which he feared would be refused, if not instantly vindicated as his right.
His attire was a riding-cloak, which, when open, displayed a handsome jerkin overlaid with lace, and belted with a buff girdle, which sustained a broadsword and a pair of pistols.
"You ride well provided, sir," said the host, looking at the weapons as he placed on the table the mulled sack which the traveller had ordered.
"Yes, mine host; I have found the use on't in dangerous times, and I do not, like your modern grandees, turn off my followers the instant they are useless." "Ay, sir ?" said Giles Gosling; "then you are from the Low Countries, the land of pike and caliver ?" "I have been high and low, my friend, broad and wide, far and near.

But here is to thee in a cup of thy sack; fill thyself another to pledge me, and, if it is less than superlative, e'en drink as you have brewed." "Less than superlative ?" said Giles Gosling, drinking off the cup, and smacking his lips with an air of ineffable relish,--"I know nothing of superlative, nor is there such a wine at the Three Cranes, in the Vintry, to my knowledge; but if you find better sack than that in the Sheres, or in the Canaries either, I would I may never touch either pot or penny more.

Why, hold it up betwixt you and the light, you shall see the little motes dance in the golden liquor like dust in the sunbeam.
But I would rather draw wine for ten clowns than one traveller .-- I trust your honour likes the wine ?" "It is neat and comfortable, mine host; but to know good liquor, you should drink where the vine grows.