ODE TO FATHER MATHEW.
Oh, Father Mathew, why dost thou incline
Against all spirits thus to whine?
To preach against good liquor is a scandal.
Why to such rash conclusions jump—
To airy, dull, unsocial pump,
Why give a handle?
Water is very well—but then 'tis known,
That well is always better let alone.
Washing is water's only function,
Save when a little drop poured in-
to brandy, whisky, rum, or gin,
Makes glorious, grand junction.
Think, Father Mathew, how you interfere
With Christmas cheer;
How can we offer friends a welcome hearty,
Unto a cold December water party?
When strangers meet together once or twice,
Wine warms away the chill of cold decorum;
But who could ever hope to break the ice
Cold water would in winter's depth throw o'er 'em?
Who could strike up a joyous song
Upon a cup, however strong,
Of wishy-washy green souchong?
Believe me, Father Mathew, you are wrong!
It would indeed be useless labour,
With such a pledge as those you boast,
To try and pledge one's neighbour,
In a flat toast-and-water toast.
Who could with spirits light advance,
To join the dance,
When with teetotalism clogged,
His heels are water-logged?
They who conform to your teetotal wishes,
And satisfied can be,
With water breakfast, dinner, supper, tea,
I class among the oddest fishes.
No, Father Mathew, let us have our ale—
Water's quite out of the social pale.
FATHER MATHEW—An ice-man for a small party