It is the poor who suffer from temptation,
And drink's detestable adulteration,
That crying ill which no one dares to tackle!
Whilst Witlers howl, and Water-zealots cackle.
The poor are poisoned, not by honest drink,
But lethal stuff that might scour out a sink.
The Poor Man's Beer, quotha! Who'll keep it pure?
Not rich monopolists, nor prigs demure,
Those shriek for freedom, these for prohibition,
"Vend the drugged stuff sans scrutiny or condition!"