And if in Stoke Pogis no publican lodges, It don’t follow Hodge is cut off from good cheer; In the very next parish the tap may be fairish, And the vestry less bearish and stern about beer.
Men in time will refrain when that goes with their grain; Till it does ’tis in vain that their wills you coerce; For the man whom by force you turn out of his course, Without fear or remorse will soon take to a worse.
Of course, in asserting malt liquors to be the temperance drink, or drink of the temperate, it must be understood that we refer to the ordinary ales and beers of to-day, in which the amount of alcohol is small, and which are very different from the potent liquor drank by the topers of the past, who were rightly designated malt worms.
It has been said that even pigs drank strong ale in those days, but the only evidence of the truth of that statement is the tradition that Herrick, a most charming but little read poet, succeeded in teaching a favourite pig to drink ale out of a jug. Old ale is now out of fashion, its chief strongholds being the venerable centres of education. We all know the tale of the don who, about once a week, reminded the butler of a certain understanding between them, in these words: “Mind, when I say ‘beer’—the old ale.” Ancient writers are full of allusions to the potent character of the strong ales of their day. Nor are more modern authors wanting in that respect. Peter Pindar, who wrote during the reign of George III., when ale was still of a “mightie” character, thus sings:—
Toper, drink, and help the house— Drink to every honest fellow; Life was never worth a louse To the man who ne’er was mellow.
How it sparkles! here it goes! Ale can make a blockhead shine; Toper, torchlike may thy nose Light thy face up, just like mine.
See old Sol, I like his notion, With his whiskers all so red; Sipping, drinking from the ocean, Boozing till he goes to bed.
Yet poor beverage to regale! Simple stuff to help his race— Could he turn the sea to Ale, How ’twould make him mend his pace!
