To guide the gay feast,
And freely declar’d there was choice of good cheer;
Yet vow’d to his thinking,
For exquisite drinking,
Their nectar was nothing to Newcastle beer.
The great god of war, to encourage the fun,
And humour the taste of his whimsical guest,
Sent a message that moment to Moor’s[2] for a tun
Of stingo, the stoutest, the brightest and best;
No gods, they all swore,