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CVBS
AND THEIE CUSTOMS.
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Oil! Sir John Barleycorn, tliou glorious Knight of Malt-a,
May thy fame never alter:
Great Britain's Bacchus I pardon all OUT failings,
And "with thy Ale ease all our ailings.
I Ve emptied many a barrel In my time—•
And, may "be, snail empty many more
Before
O'er the Styx I sail.
E'en when an infant I was fond of Ale,
A sort of Ale-y-baby,
And still I love, in spite of gibes and jokes
Of wine-ing folks.
For Stout I Ve stoutly fought for many a year,
For Ale I '11fight till I
?
ni laid on my bier.
October! oh
3
intoxicating name! no drink
That e'er was made on earth can match with thee.
Of "best French Tbrandy in the Palais Royal
I Ve emptied many a phial,
And think
That double X beats O.D.V.
On thy banks, Bhiae,
I 're drank such wine
As Bacchus' self might well unsober;
But, oh! Joliannisberg thy beams are shorn
By our John Barleycorn,
And Hock Is not Hoek-tober.
As for the rest, Cape, Claret, Calcavella,
They are but
a
leather and prunella,"
Stale, flat, and musty.
By the side of Ale
Imperial Tokay
Itself gives way,
Sherry turns pale,
And Port grows crusty.
Rum, "Whisky, Hollands seem so much sour crout,
And Hodges
f
s Mountain-Dew turns out
A mere Hodge-Podge.
Of
Bishops
e
f
e% god wot!
I don't much like the flavour,