To all the brisk Beaus who think Life but a Play,
Who make Day like the Night, and turn Night into Day;
To all Lovers of Red and White-Port, Syracuse,
Barcelona, Navarr, or Canary’s sweet Juice;
To all Alicant Tasters, and Malaga-Sots,
To all Friends to Straw-Bottles, and Nicking Quart-Pots,
To all Bacchus his Friends, who have Taverns frequented,
This following Poem is Humbly Presented.”
The searchers after claret spend two days visiting the taverns and find none. I suppose that the war with France had caused a stoppage of the supply. In the same way, during the long war with France, 1793–1815, the people forgot their old taste for claret; when they drank it at all, it was heavy stuff. They visit eighty-eight taverns between Whitechapel and Temple Bar and at Westminster, and this without going out of the main streets. Many of these taverns are still remembered by the tokens which they issued for copper money. Most of these taverns were not hostels, and did not provide lodgings; they were taverns and nothing more; they were frequented, as has been said, by tradesmen during the day; in the evening there were societies, clubs, and trades, which held their meetings in the taverns. For instance, in the Mitre, Cheapside, afterwards called the Goose and Gridiron, the Society of Musicians met and gave their concerts. At the Cock and the Devil of Fleet Street the lawyers thronged.