RETRIBUTION—A XIXTH CENTURY BALLAD OF THE SLOE.
By the Author of "Vengeance, a Ballad of the Fleet."
AT his chambers in the Albany Sir Richard Tankard lay,
And a missive, like brown buttered toast, was brought him on a tray;
"Come, drink my Spanish wine—fifty dozen, all is thine,
And bring your friends with you, we'll drink till all is blue."
Then sware Lord Thomas Drunker: "By jingo, I'm no funker;
But I cannot go, I fear, for my liver's out of gear,
And my head feels like to burst, and I only slake my thirst
With Apollinaris water, for I dare not touch port wine."
Then spake Sir Richard Tankard, "I know you are no funker,
And fly wine for a moment to return to it again,
But my liver and my brain are free from ache and pain.
I should count myself the funker if I left them, my Lord Drunker,
Unsatisfied, and craving for the purple wine of Spain."
He called his friends together to go with him and dine.
He told them of the telegram that told him of the wine.
"We will go for we are dry;
Good Sir Richard, we are thine,
And the vintage we will try.
If good there will be little left ere morrow's sun be set!"
And Sir Richard said again, "We be all good Englishmen;
Let us empty all the bottles down our sturdy British throttles,
For I never turned my back upon glass or bottle yet."
Sir Richard spoke and he laugh'd, and we roared a hurrah, and so,
Like true-born sturdy Englishmen, we all of us would go.
And found the wine all laid along the floor in many a row,
And half was laid on the right-hand side, and half on the left was seen,
And the table, like the white sea foam, ran down the room between.
The dim eyes of the waiters winked with an inward laugh;
They seemed to mock the notion that we the wine would quaff.
But as the night was waning they watched the rows grow small,
And whispered to each other, "I bet they'll drink it all!"
For the wine was flowing swiftly down, as a cataract might be
When it leaps from a mountain to the sea!
And the moon went down and the stars came out o'er the smoky London town;
And never a moment ceased the flow of the purple liquor down!
Glass after glass, the whole night long, the mighty magnums went,
And bottle after bottle was away from the table sent.
"Dead men," as in a battle field, lay strewn upon the floor,
But still there was no cry of "Hold!" but constant shouts for "more!"
For he said, "Drink on, drink on!"
Though he scarce could lift his hand.
And it chanced when more than half of the summer night was gone
That he rose up on his feet and tried to stand,
But he sunk into his chair, and lay back grinning there,
And close up to his side we stept,
Then—the rule in such a case—we cork'd him on the face,
And he fell upon the floor, and he slept.
So pass'd we all, and when we woke each knew of a heavy head,
For not a soul of all of us had found the way to bed!
And a tempest of indignation swept over our surging brains,
That we could be floored by vintage, ay, ev'n of a hundred Spains!
"It never was PORT"! we cried, and so we tasted it once again—'twas SLOE!
Vile SLOE, with all our might, we had drunk for half the night!
And brave Sir Richard Tankard said, "Boys, although we drank hard,
'Tis SLOE-JUICE, and not Spanish wine, is giving us such pains!"
Then in a sink, that day, we poured the rest away,
To be lost evermore in the drains.
On the 15th March, 1882, at one of the London Ballad Concerts, Mr. Santley sang, for the first time, a patriotic song, written by Alfred Tennyson, the music composed by Mr. C. V. Stanford. This song was announced with much ceremony as a new work, whereas it was simply an abbreviated, and somewhat modified, arrangement of a poem in five verses, entitled Hands all Round, which had appeared in the Examiner in 1852, over the signature Merlin. The song did not arouse any enthusiasm, and is now only memorable for the offence its chorus gave to the temperance party. The first verse is quoted to illustrate the parodies:—
"First pledge our Queen, my friends, and then
A health to England, every guest;
He best will serve the race of men
Who loves his native country best!
May freedom's oak for ever last,
With larger life from day to day;
He loves the present and the past
Who lops the moulder'd branch away.
Hands all round! God the traitor's hope confound!
To the great cause of Freedom, drink my friends,
And the great name of England round and round."
On this poem getting into the papers, the Good Templars attached far too much importance to it, and wrote to remonstrate with the Poet Laureate. The following reply was sent to Mr. Malins, the Chief Templar:—
"86, Eaton-square, London,—Sir,—My father begs to thank the Committee of the Executive of the Grand Lodge of England Good Templars for their resolution. No one honours more highly the good work done by them than my father. I must, however, ask you to remember that the common cup has in all ages been employed as a sacred symbol of unity, and that my father has only used the word 'drink' in reference to this symbol. I much regret that it should have been otherwise understood.—Faithfully yours,
HALLAM TENNYSON."
The following parody, adverting to this correspondence, appeared in Punch, April 1, 1882:—