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A Tankard of Ale |
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Some folks of cider made a rout, And cider's well enough, no doubt,
When better liquors fail; But wine, that's richer, better still, Ev'n wine itself (deny't who will)
Must yield to nappy ale.
Rum, brandy, gin, with choicest smack, From Holland brought, Batavia sack,
All these will nought avail To cheer a truly British heart, And lively spirits to impart,
Like humming, nappy ale.
Oh ! whether thee I closely hug In honest can or nut-brown jug,
Or in the tankard hail; In barrel or in bottle pent, I give the generous spirit vent,
Still may I feast on ale.
But chief when to the cheerful glass, From vessel pure, thy streamlets pass,
Then most thy charms prevail; Then, then, I'll bet, and take the odds, That nectar, drink of heathen gods,
Was poor compared to ale !
Give me a bumper, fill it up : See how it sparkles in the cup ; Oh, how shall I regale !
98 |
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