Here lie I at the church door, Here be I because I’m poor, The further in the more you pay, Here lie I as warm as they.
While on the subject of epitaphs, the following may be quoted as having some bearing on the subject specially treated of in this chapter:—
Poor John Scott lies buried here; Tho’ once he was both hale and stout, Death stretched him on his bitter bier: In another world he hops about.
An ale of a similar nature to white ale goes in Cornwall by the rather uneuphonious title of “Laboragol.” Somewhat similar to the foregoing was grout[47] ale, which is said by Halliwell, on the authority of Dean Milles’ MS. glossary, to have been different from white ale, of a brownish colour, and known only to the people about Newton Bussel, who kept the method of preparing it a secret. A physician, a native of that place, informed him that the preparation was made of “malt almost burnt in an iron pot, mixed with some of the barm which rises on the first working in the keeve, a small quantity of which invigorates the whole mass and makes it very heady.” {165}
[47] The word grout properly signifies ground meal or malt. Kennett says that in Leicestershire the infusion of malt and water before it is fully boiled is called grout, and after it is tunned up it is called wort. Ray explains it as wort of the last running. Pegge says it is only drank by poor people, who are on that account called “grouters.” See Halliwell’s Dict. of Arch. and Prov. Words. In the old play, Tom Tyler and his Wife, growt is used to signify a kind of ale.
This jolly growt is jolly and stout I pray you stout it still-a,
While mentioning some few of the places specially noted for their ales, our ancient seats of learning must not be forgotten. Who has not heard of Trinity audit, and of that scarcely less famous liquor, Brasenose Ale? Many who have tasted the former have had no words to express their feelings; some have said that it is as superior to all other mortal brews as Chateau Lafitte is to vin ordinaire. These may seem words of extravagant praise; but let the reader who has never tasted this famous drink reserve his judgment on the point until he has, and above all let him lose no time in putting his judgment to the test. Trinity audit would justify the eulogy of the host in the Beaux’ Stratagem—“As smooth as oil, sweet as milk, clear as amber, strong as brandy; fancy it Burgundy, only fancy it, and it is worth ten shillings a quart.”
Oh, in truth, it gladdens the heart to see What may spring from the Ale of Trinitie,— A scholar—a fellow,—a rector blithe, (Fit to take any amount of tithe)— Perhaps a bishop—perhaps, by grace, One may mount to the Archiepiscopal place, And wield the crosier, an awful thing, The envy of all, and—the parsons’ King! O Jove! who would struggle with learning pale, That could beat down the world by the strength of Ale! For me,—I avow, could my thoughtless prime Come back with the wisdom of mournful time, I’d labour—I’d toil—by night and day, (Mixing liquors and books away,) Till I conquer’d that high and proud degree, M. A. (Master of Ale) of Trinitie.[48]
[48] A Panegyric on Ale addressed to W. L. Birkbeck, Esq., by Barry Cornwall.
Brasenose College, Oxford, has long been noted for its ale. As each Shrovetide comes round, the college butler, as a condition of the tenure of his office, presents a barrel of the strongest nappy, and celebrates the event in verse, handing on to generations yet unborn the name and fame of the Brasenose brew. The earlier of these ale poems, which are in reality the effusions of some poetical undergraduate, had a fleeting existence, but some years ago Mr. Prior, who was then and still continues, {166} the butler of the College, published a collection of them in a small volume, entitled Brasenose Ale. In his little book, which we commend to the perusal of all good ale-knights, occur the following lines, written by R. J. B., in 1835:—