NEWCASTLE BEER.

Blithe Comus was placed

To guide the gay feast,

And freely declared there was choice of good chcer,
Yet vow'd, to his thinking,

For exquisite drinking.

Their nectar was nothing to Newcastle becr.

The great god of war, to encourage the fun,
And humour the taste of his whimsical guest,
Sent a message that moment to Moore's for a tun
Of Stingo, the stoutest, the brightest, and best;
No gods-they all swore-

Regal'd so before,

With liquor so lively, so potent, and clear;
And each deified fellow

Got jovially mellow,

In honour, brave boys, of our Newcastle bccr.

Apollo, perceiving his talents refine,

Repents he drank Helicon water so long; He bow'd, being asked by the musical Nine, And gave the gay board an extempore song. But ere he began

He toss'd off his can

There's nought like good liquor the fancy to clear—
Then sang with great merit

The flavour and spirit

His godship had found in our Newcastle beer.

Twas Stingo like this made Alcides so bold

It braced up his nerves and enlivened his powers;
And his mystical club, that did wonders of old,
Was nothing, my lads, but such liquor as ours.

121

The horrible crew

That Hercules slew,

Were Poverty, Calumny, Trouble and Fear,-
Such a club would you borrow

To drive away sorrow,

Apply for a jorum of Newcastle beer.

Ye youngsters, so diffident, languid and pale,
Whom love, like the colic, so rudely infests;
Take a cordial of this, 'twill probatum prevail,
And drive the cur Cupid away from your breasts.
Dull whining despise,

Grow rosy and wise,

Nor longer the jest of good fellows appear;
Bid adieu to your folly,

Get drunk and be jolly,

And smoke o'er a tankard of Newcastle beer.

Ye fanciful folk, for whom physic prescribes,
Whom bolus and potion have harass'd to death;
Ye wretches, whom law and her ill-looking tribes
Have hunted about 'till you're quite out of breath;
Here's shelter and ease,

No craving for fees,

No danger, no doctor, no bailiff is near;

Your spirits this raises,

It cures your diseases,

There's freedom and health in our Newcastle beer!

JOHN CUNNINGHAM.

PUSH ABOUT THE JORUM-LOVE V. THE BOTTLE. 123

PUSH ABOUT THE JORUM.

WHEN bickerings hot

To high words got,

Break out at Gamiorum ;

The flame to cool,

My golden rule

Is-push about the jorum!

With fist on jug,

Coifs who can lug,

Or show me that glib speaker,

Who her red rag

In gibe can wag,

With her mouth full of liquor.

KANE O'HARA.

(From The Golden Pippin.')

LOVE VERSUS THE BOTTLE.

SWEET Chloe advised me, in accents divine,
The joys of the bowl to surrender;
Nor lose in the turbid excesses of wine,

Delights more ecstatic and tender;

She bade me no longer in vineyards to bask,

Or stagger at orgies, the dupe of a flask,

For the sigh of a sot's but the scent of the cask,
And a bubble the bliss of the bottle.

To a soul that's exhausted, or sterile, or dry,
The juice of the grape may be wanted;
But mine is reviv'd by a love-beaming eye,
And with Fancy's gay flow'rets enchanted.

Oh, who but an owl would a garland entwine
Of Bacchus's ivy-and myrtle resign?
Yield the odours of love for the vapours of wine,

And Chloe's kind kiss for a bottle!

EDWARD LYSAGHT.

HERE'S TO THE MAIDEN.

HERE'S to the maiden of bashful fifteen,
Here's to the widow of fifty;

Here's to the flaunting extravagant quean,
And here's to the housewife that's thrifty!

Chorus: Let the toast pass,

Drink to the lass,

I'll warrant she'll prove an excuse for the glass.

Here's to the charmer whose dimples we prize,
And now to the maid who has none, sir;
Here's to the girl with a pair of blue eyes,
And here's to the nymph with but one, sir!
Let the toast pass, etc.

Here's to the maid with a bosom of snow,
And to her that's as brown as a berry;
Here's to the wife with a face full of woe,
And now to the girl that's merry!
Let the toast pass, etc.

For let 'em be clumsy, or let 'em be slim,
Young or ancient, I care not a feather;
So fill a pint bumper quite up to the brim,
And let us e'en toast them together.
Let the toast pass, etc.

RICHARD BRINSLEY SHERIDAN.
(From The School for Scanda..')

LLT'S DRINK LIKE HONEST MEN.

125

LET'S DRINK LIKE HONEST MEN.

HAD I the tun which Bacchus used,

I'd sit on it all day;

For, while a can it ne'er refused,
He nothing had to pay.

I'd turn the cock from morn to eve,
Nor think it toil and trouble;
But I'd contrive, you may believe,
To make it carry double.

My friend should sit as well as I,
And take a jovial pot;

For he who drinks-although he's dry-
Alone, is sure a sot.

But since the tun which Bacchus used

We have not here-what then,
Since god-like toping is refused,
Let's drink like honest men.

And let that churl, old Bacchus, sit-
Who envies him his wine?
While mortal fellowship and wit

Make whisky more divine?

RICHARD ALFRED MILLIKIN.

'LET US BE MERRY BEFORE WE GƆ.'

IF sadly thinking, with spirits sinking,

Could, more than drinking, my cares compose,

A cure for sorrow from sighs I'd borrow,
And hope to-morrow would end my woes.