Hail, Beer!
In all thy forms of Porter, Stingo, Stout,
Swipes, Double-X, Ale, Heavy, Out-and-out,
Most dear.
Hail! thou that mak'st man's heart as big as Jove's!
Of Ceres' gifts the best!
That furnishest
A cure for all our griefs: a barm for all our—loaves!
Oh! Sir John Barleycorn, thou glorious Knight of Malt-a
May thy fame never alter!
Great Britain's Bacchus! pardon all our failings:
And with thy ale ease all our ailings!
I've emptied many a barrel in my time: and may be
Shall empty many more
Before
O'er Styx I sail:
Ev'n when an infant I was fond of Ale:
A sort of Ale-y Baby,
And still I love it, spite the gibes and jokes
Of _wine_ing folks.
For Stout I've stoutly fought for many a year;
For Ale I'll fight till I'm laid on my _bier_.
October! oh, intoxicating name! no drink
That e'er was made on earth can match with thee!
Of best French Brandy in the Palais Royal
I've emptied many a phial;
And think
That Double-X beats O-D-V.
On thy banks, Rhine,
I've drunk such Wine
As Bacchus' self might well unsober:
But oh, Johannisberg! thy beams are shorn
By our John Barleycorn;
And Hock is not Hock-tober!
As for the rest, Cape, Claret, Calcavella,
They are but "leather and prunello,"
Stale, flat, and musty.
By thy side, Ale!
Imperial Tokay
Itself gives way;
Sherry turns pale,
And Port grows crusty.
Rum, Whiskey, Hollands, seem so much sour crout:
And Hodges' Mountain Dew turns out
A mere Hodge-
Podge.
Of _bishops_ ev'n, god wot!
I don't much like the flavour:
Politically speaking, (but then, politics are not
My trade,)
Exception should be made
In Doctor _Malt-by's_ favour.
_In vino veritas_, they say: but that's a fable—
A most egregious blunder.
I've been at many a wine-bibbing, ere now:
And vow,
For one that told the truth _across_ the table,
I've seen a dozen _lying_ under.
Besides, as old Sam Johnson said once, I've no patience
With men who never tell the sober truth
But when they're drunk: and a'n't to be believed, forsooth,
Except in their lie-bations.
Oh! do not think—you who these praises hear—
Don't think my muse be-mused with Beer!
Nor that, in speaking thus my pleasure,
I go beyond beer measure.
Would I had lived in days of good Queen Bet,
And her brave _déjeûners à la fourchette_!
No days were e'er like hers,
At whose gay board were ever seen to join
Those two surpassing Sirs,
Sir John, and famed Sir-loin.
But stay!
It's time to end this lay;
Tho' I could go on rhyming for a year
(And think it sport
In praise of Beer);
But many folks, I know, like _something short_.