Nor scorn its yellow flood for the sake of the Bacchus of Cruikshank.
Lo! now, I stand not forth, laying hold on spear and on buckler;
I come, as the cask of pale ale, to comfort thee, and to succour:
With soft and mellowest taste to charm the lips which are eager;
With the balmy breath of fellowship to touch thy heart sympathetic.
Let us drink together as friends, in the happy smoke of tobacco,
Nor judgment take her seat until we are happy as lordlings,
That the fumes of good strong beer may override all argument,
And charity not be a stranger at the board that is spread for brothers.
Anonymous.