ODE TO BEER.
Hail, Beer!
In all thy forms of Porter, Stingo, Stout,
Swipes, Double-X, Ale, Heavy, Out-and-out,
Most dear.
Hail! thou that mak'st man's heart as big as Jove's!
Of Ceres' gifts the best!
That furnishest
A cure for all our griefs: a barm for all our—loaves!
Oh! Sir John Barleycorn, thou glorious Knight of Malt-a
May thy fame never alter!
Great Britain's Bacchus! pardon all our failings:
And with thy ale ease all our ailings!
I've emptied many a barrel in my time: and may be
Shall empty many more
Before
O'er Styx I sail:
Ev'n when an infant I was fond of Ale:
A sort of Ale-y Baby,
And still I love it, spite the gibes and jokes
Of wineing folks.
For Stout I've stoutly fought for many a year;
For Ale I'll fight till I'm laid on my bier.
October! oh, intoxicating name! no drink
That e'er was made on earth can match with thee!
Of best French Brandy in the Palais Royal
I've emptied many a phial;
And think
That Double-X beats O-D-V.
On thy banks, Rhine,
I've drunk such Wine
As Bacchus' self might well unsober:
But oh, Johannisberg! thy beams are shorn
By our John Barleycorn;
And Hock is not Hock-tober!
As for the rest, Cape, Claret, Calcavella,
They are but "leather and prunello,"
Stale, flat, and musty.
By thy side, Ale!
Imperial Tokay
Itself gives way;
Sherry turns pale,
And Port grows crusty.
Rum, Whiskey, Hollands, seem so much sour crout:
And Hodges' Mountain Dew turns out
A mere Hodge-
Podge.
Of bishops ev'n, god wot!
I don't much like the flavour:
Politically speaking, (but then, politics are not
My trade,)
Exception should be made
In Doctor Malt-by's favour.
In vino veritas, they say: but that's a fable—
A most egregious blunder.
I've been at many a wine-bibbing, ere now:
And vow,
For one that told the truth across the table,
I've seen a dozen lying under.
Besides, as old Sam Johnson said once, I've no patience
With men who never tell the sober truth
But when they're drunk: and a'n't to be believed, forsooth,
Except in their lie-bations.
Oh! do not think—you who these praises hear—
Don't think my muse be-mused with Beer!
Nor that, in speaking thus my pleasure,
I go beyond beer measure.
Would I had lived in days of good Queen Bet,
And her brave déjeûners à la fourchette!
No days were e'er like hers,
At whose gay board were ever seen to join
Those two surpassing Sirs,
Sir John, and famed Sir-loin.
But stay!
It's time to end this lay;
Tho' I could go on rhyming for a year
(And think it sport
In praise of Beer);
But many folks, I know, like something short.