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In those old days which poets say were golden	A
Perhaps they laid the gilding on themselves	B
And if they did I'm all the more beholden	A
To those brown dwellers in my dusty shelves	B
Who talk to me 'in language quaint and olden'	A
Of gods and demigods and fauns and elves	B
Pan with his pipes and Bacchus with his leopards	C
And staid young goddesses who flirt with shepherds	C
	-
In those old days the Nymph called Etiquette	D
Appalling thought to dwell on was not born	A
They had their May but no Mayfair as yet	E
No fashions varying as the hues of morn	A
Just as they pleased they dressed and drank and ate	F
Sang hymns to Ceres their John Barleycorn	A
And danced unchaperoned and laughed unchecked	G
And were no doubt extremely incorrect	G
	-
Yet do I think their theory was pleasant	H
And oft I own my 'wayward fancy roams'	C
Back to those times so different from the present	H
When no one smoked cigars nor gave At homes	C
Nor smote a billiard ball nor winged a pheasant	H
Nor 'did' her hair by means of long tailed combs	C
Nor migrated to Brighton once a year	I
Nor most astonishing of all drank Beer	I
	-
No they did not drink Beer 'which brings me to'	H
As Gilpin said 'the middle of my song '	-
Not that 'the middle' is precisely true	J
Or else I should not tax your patience long	K
If I had said 'beginning ' it might do	J
But I have a dislike to quoting wrong	K
I was unlucky sinned against not sinning	L
When Cowper wrote down 'middle' for 'beginning '	-
	-
So to proceed That abstinence from Malt	H
Has always struck me as extremely curious	C
The Greek mind must have had some vital fault	H
That they should stick to liquors so injurious	C
Wine water tempered p'raps with Attic salt	H
And not at once invent that mild luxurious	C
And artful beverage Beer How the digestion	A
Got on without it is a startling question	A
	-
Had they digestions and an actual body	H
Such as dyspepsia might make attacks on	A
Were they abstract ideas like Tom Noddy	H
And Mr Briggs or men like Jones and Jackson	A
Then nectar was that beer or whisky toddy	H
Some say the Gaelic mixture I the Saxon	A
I think a strict adherence to the latter	M
Might make some Scots less pigheaded and fatter	M
	-
Besides Bon Gaultier definitely shows	C
That the real beverage for feasting gods on	A
Is a soft compound grateful to the nose	C
And also to the palate known as 'Hidgson '	-
I know a man a tailor's son who rose	C
To be a peer and this I would lay odds on	A
Though in his Memoirs it may not appear	I
That that man owed his rise to copious Beer	I
	-
O Beer O Hodgson Guinness Allsopp Bass	C
Names that should be on every infant's tongue	N
Shall days and months and years and centuries pass	C
And still your merits be unrecked unsung	N
Oh I have gazed into my foaming glass	C
And wished that lyre could yet again be strung	N
Which once rang prophet like through Greece and taught her	M
Misguided sons that the best drink was water	M
	-
How would he now recant that wild opinion	A
And sing as would that I could sing of you	J
I was not born alas the 'Muses' minion '	-
I'm not poetical not even blue	J
And he we know but strives with waxen pinion	A
Whoe'er he is that entertains the view	J
Of emulating Pindar and will be	H
Sponsor at last to some now nameless sea	H
	-
Oh when the green slopes of Arcadia burned	H
With all the lustre of the dying day	H
And on Cith ron's brow the reaper turned	H
Humming of course in his delightful way	H
How Lycidas was dead and how concerned	H
The Nymphs were when they saw his lifeless clay	H
And how rock told to rock the dreadful story	H
That poor young Lycidas was gone to glory	H
	-
What would that lone and labouring soul have given	A
At that soft moment for a pewter pot	H
How had the mists that dimmed his eye been riven	A
And Lycidas and sorrow all forgot	H
If his own grandmother had died unshriven	A
In two short seconds he'd have recked it not	H
Such power hath Beer The heart which Grief hath cankered	H
Hath one unfailing remedy the Tankard	H
	-
Coffee is good and so no doubt is cocoa	O
Tea did for Johnson and the Chinamen	A
When 'Dulce est desipere in loco'	O
Was written real Falernian winged the pen	A
When a rapt audience has encored 'Fra Poco'	O
Or 'Casta Diva ' I have heard that then	A
The Prima Donna smiling herself out	H
Recruits her flagging powers with bottled stout	H
	-
But what is coffee but a noxious berry	H
Born to keep used up Londoners awake	O
What is Falernian what is Port or Sherry	H
But vile concoctions to make dull heads ache	O
Nay stout itself though good with oysters very	H
Is not a thing your reading man should take	O
He that would shine and petrify his tutor	M
Should drink draught Allsopp in its 'native pewter '	-
	-
But hark a sound is stealing on my ear	P
A soft and silvery sound I know it well	Q
Its tinkling tells me that a time is near	I
Precious to me it is the Dinner Bell	Q
O blessed Bell Thou bringest beef and beer	I
Thou bringest good things more than tongue may tell	Q
Seared is of course my heart but unsubdued	H
Is and shall be my appetite for food	H
	-
I go Untaught and feeble is my pen	A
But on one statement I may safely venture	M
That few of our most highly gifted men	A
Have more appreciation of their trencher	M
I go One pound of British beef and then	A
What Mr Swiveller called a 'modest quencher'	M
That home returning I may 'soothly say '	-
'Fate cannot touch me I have dined to day '	-

Charles Stuart Calverley

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