A PANEGYRIC on ALE.

By T. W*****

BALM of my cares, sweet solace of my toils,
Hail, juice benignant! o'er the costly cups
Of riot-stirring wine, unwholsome draught,
Let Pride's loose sons prolong the wasteful night:
My sober ev'ning let the tankard bless,
With toast imbrown'd, and fragrant nutmeg fraught,
While the rich draught with oft repeated whiffs
Tobacco mild improves: divine repast!
Where no crude surfeit, or intemperate joys
Of lawless Bacchus reign: but o'er my soul
A calm Lethean creeps: in drowsy trance
Each thought subsides, and sweet oblivion wraps
My peaceful brain, as if the magic rod
Of leaden Morpheus o'er mine eyes had shed
Its opiate influence. What tho' sore ills
Oppress, dire want of chill-dispelling coals,
Or cheerful candle, save the makeweight's gleam
Hap'ly remaining; heart-rejoicing ale
Cheers the sad scene, and every want supplies.

Meantime not mindless of the daily task
Of tutor sage, upon the learned leaves
Of deep Smiglecius much I meditate;
While ale inspires, and lends her kindred aid
The thought-perplexing labour to pursue,
Sweet Helicon of logic! — But if friends
Congenial call me from the toilsome page,
To pot-house I repair, the sacred haunt,
Where, Ale, thy votaries in full resort
Hold rites nocturnal. In capacious chair
Of monumental oak, and antique mould,
That long has stood the rage of conquering Time
Inviolate, (not in more ample seat
Smokes rosy justice, when th' important cause,
Whether of henroost or of mirthful rape,
In all the majesty of paunch, he tries:)
Studious of ease, and provident I place
My gladsome limbs, while in repeated round
Returns replenish'd the successive cup,
And the brisk fire conspires to genial joy.
Nor seldom to relieve the ling'ring hours
In innocent delight, amusive putt
On smooth joint-stool in emblematic play
The vain vicissitudes of fortune shews.
Nor reck'ning, name tremendous, me disturbs,
Nor, call'd-for, chills my breast with sudden fear,
While on the wonted door (expressive mark!)
The frequent penny stands describ'd to view
In snowy characters, a graceful row.
Hail Ticking! surest guardian of distress,
Beneath thy shelter pennyless I quaff
The cheering cup: tho' much the poet's friend
Ne'er yet attempted in poetic strain,
Accept this humble tribute of my praise.
Nor proctor thrice with vocal heel alarms
Our joys secure, nor deigns the lowly roof
Of pot-house snug to visit: wiser he
The splendid tavern haunts, or coffee-house
Of James or Juggins, where the grateful breath
Of mild tobacco ne'er diffus'd its balm;
But the lewd spendthrift, falsely deem'd polite,
While steams around the fragrant Indian bowl
Oft damns the vulgar sons of humbler Ale:
In vain — the proctor's voice alarms their joy;
Just fate os wanton pride, and vain excess!

Nor less by day delightful is thy draught,
Heart-easing Ale, whose sorrow-soothing sweets
Oft I repeat in vacant afternoon,
When tatter'd stockings ask my mending hand
Not unexperienc'd, while the tedious toil
Slides unregarded. Let the tender swain
Each morn regale on nerve-relaxing tea,
Companion meet of languor-loving nymph:
Be mine each morn with eager appetite
And hunger undissembled, to repair
To friendly butt'ry, there on smoaking crust
And foaming Ale to banquet unrestrain'd,
Material breakfast! Thus in ancient times
Our ancestors robust with liberal cups
Usher'd the morn, unlike the languid sons
Of modern days; nor ever had the might
Of Britons brave decay'd, had thus they fed,
With English Ale improving English worth.
With Ale irriguous, undismay'd I har
The frequent dun ascend my lofty dome
Importunate: whether the plaintive voice
Of laundress shrill awake my startled ear,
Or taylor with obsequious bow advance;
Or groom invade me with defying look
And fierce demeanor, whose emaciate steeds
Had panted oft beneath my goring steel;
In vain they plead or threat; all-powerful Ale
Excuses new supplies, and each descends
With joyless pace and debt-despairing looks.
E'en Sp—y with indignant bow retires,
Sternest of duns! and conquer'd quits the field.

Why did the gods such various blessings pour
On helpless mortals, from their grateful hands
So soon the short-liv'd bounty to recal?
Thus while, improvident of future ill,
I quaff the luscious tankard unrestrain'd,
And thoughtless riot in ambrosial bliss,
Sudden (dire fate of all things excellent!)
Th' unpitying bursar's cross affixing hand
Blast all my joys, and stops my glad career.
Nor now the friendly pot-house longer yields
A sure retreat when ev'ning shades the skies,
Nor Sheppard, rushless widow, now vouchsafes
The wonted trust, and Winter ticks no more.
Thus Adam exil'd from the blissful scenes
Of Eden griev'd, no more in hallow'd bow'r
On nect'rine fruits to feast, fresh shade or vale
No more to visit, or vine-mantled grot;
But all forlorn the naked wilderness,
And unrejoicing solitudes to trace.
Thus too the matchless bard, whose lay resounds
The Splendid Shilling's praise, in nightly gloom
Of lonesome garret pin'd for cheerful Ale:
Whose steps in verse Miltonic I pursue,
Mean follower! like him with honest love
Of Ale divine inspir'd, and love of song.
But long may bounteous Heav'n with watchful care
Avert his hapless fate! enough for me,
That burning with congenial flame I dar'd
His guiding steps at distance to pursue,
And sing his fav'rite theme in kindred strains.