 | Old-Reekie's loud and joyful Acclamation, For Sir John Barleycorn his Restoration |  |
OLD-REEKIE's loud and joyful Acclamation, For Sir John Barleycorn his Restoration.
By ALEXANDER PENNECUIK, Gent.
Qui mihi combibulus puer es cujus atque jocare
Huc ades, hæc manibus pocula sume tuis.
Huc ades, hæc manibus pocula sume tuis.
Et magis ut quisque est potandi munere clarus,
Hoc magis is clara sede locandus erit.
Hoc magis is clara sede locandus erit.
Welcome, dear Friend, the Joy of ev'ry Heart,
Thrice Welcome, henceforth let us never part,
Welcome as Health to him in violent Pain;
Or to a losing Gamester lucky Main;
Welcome as Freedom to the Man confin'd,
Or Pardon to a Criminal condemn'd;
Welcome as to Night-watch the Rising Sun,
Or to a landed Pupil Twenty one;
Welcome as Bridegroom to the panting Fair,
Or Death of old Liferentrix to her Heir;
Welcome as Pork and Pudden, goodly Dinner
After a dreary Lent to English Sinner.
Thrice Welcome, henceforth let us never part,
Welcome as Health to him in violent Pain;
Or to a losing Gamester lucky Main;
Welcome as Freedom to the Man confin'd,
Or Pardon to a Criminal condemn'd;
Welcome as to Night-watch the Rising Sun,
Or to a landed Pupil Twenty one;
Welcome as Bridegroom to the panting Fair,
Or Death of old Liferentrix to her Heir;
Welcome as Pork and Pudden, goodly Dinner
After a dreary Lent to English Sinner.
We find thy Blood run tingling thro' the Heart,
We feel it all in all, and all in every Part.
How did we mourn thy Absence, dear Sir John?
Never young Widow gave a deeper Groan;
Or Mariner, when Shipwreckt by a Rock,
Or peevish Miser when his Debtor broke.
The Rich, the Poor, the Wise, the Great and Small
With lasting Tears did mourn thy fatal Fall,
For thour't the oldest Burgess of us all.
E'er we had Life you triumph'd in the Town,
And jolly will you be when we're cut down.
When lesser Burghers fall, the Bell-man tolls
(A pious Tribute to departed Souls)
Brethren and Sisters, I acquaint you all,
A Brother's dead, attend his Funeral,
He lyes, Et Cetra But when Sir John
Remov'd, we hear'd an universal Moan;
Both Sexes flock'd to ring his Funeral Knell,
And every Voice was louder than the Bell.
On every Brow sat Sorrow pleading Pity,
And Crowds with Cries lamented thro' the City.
Ah! is he gone? quoth every Burgher Wife,
Staff of my Age and Comfort of my Life.
When Husband, Son or Servant angred me,
Sir John was Cordial richer than the Tea;
I suck't his sweet Lips, and it did me Good,
I drown'd my Sorrow in his Jovial Blood:
Whilst Poets did his gallant Deeds rehearse,
And weept his Death in Elegiack Verse.
“Poet and Pot differ but in a Letter,
“Which makes the Poet love the Pot the better.
Never fell One so mourn'd throughout the Nation
When Tears were shed by every Corporation.
We feel it all in all, and all in every Part.
How did we mourn thy Absence, dear Sir John?
Never young Widow gave a deeper Groan;
Or Mariner, when Shipwreckt by a Rock,
Or peevish Miser when his Debtor broke.
The Rich, the Poor, the Wise, the Great and Small
With lasting Tears did mourn thy fatal Fall,
For thour't the oldest Burgess of us all.
E'er we had Life you triumph'd in the Town,
And jolly will you be when we're cut down.
When lesser Burghers fall, the Bell-man tolls
(A pious Tribute to departed Souls)
Brethren and Sisters, I acquaint you all,
A Brother's dead, attend his Funeral,
He lyes, Et Cetra But when Sir John
Remov'd, we hear'd an universal Moan;
Both Sexes flock'd to ring his Funeral Knell,
And every Voice was louder than the Bell.
On every Brow sat Sorrow pleading Pity,
And Crowds with Cries lamented thro' the City.
Ah! is he gone? quoth every Burgher Wife,
Staff of my Age and Comfort of my Life.
When Husband, Son or Servant angred me,
Sir John was Cordial richer than the Tea;
I suck't his sweet Lips, and it did me Good,
I drown'd my Sorrow in his Jovial Blood:
Whilst Poets did his gallant Deeds rehearse,
And weept his Death in Elegiack Verse.
“Poet and Pot differ but in a Letter,
“Which makes the Poet love the Pot the better.
Never fell One so mourn'd throughout the Nation
When Tears were shed by every Corporation.
The Surgeon soon grew Sick at Heart and Liver,
For he threw all their Patients in a Fever:
Wer't not for him, they need not cleanse our Tripes,
Vomits were useless and their Clyster-pipes.
For he threw all their Patients in a Fever:
Wer't not for him, they need not cleanse our Tripes,
Vomits were useless and their Clyster-pipes.
The Barber's Hand went trembling o'er our Skin,
Wanting Sir John to know if we held in,
Quoth he a steddy Hand comes from the Pot;
The Lord have Mercy now upon your Throat.
Wanting Sir John to know if we held in,
Quoth he a steddy Hand comes from the Pot;
The Lord have Mercy now upon your Throat.
The Jeweller sigh't and spoke it with a Frowne
We've lost the richest Jewel of the Crown:
What signifies a Pearl or Silver Cup,
Since all our Art can never make him up.
We've lost the richest Jewel of the Crown:
What signifies a Pearl or Silver Cup,
Since all our Art can never make him up.
Thro' Grief the Candle-maker scratch'd his Cheek
Mumbled his Words, and yet we hear'd him speak,
Sir John, with thee's begun and ended every Week.
We Pudden made as gentle as 'twas good;
For I the Sewit it had, and he the Blood.
Mumbled his Words, and yet we hear'd him speak,
Sir John, with thee's begun and ended every Week.
We Pudden made as gentle as 'twas good;
For I the Sewit it had, and he the Blood.
The Strength of sturdy Hammer-men did fail,
Their Hands hang by, they could not drive a Nail;
Their Pith lay in his Blood, but when he died,
How could the Nail be driven to the Head?
Their Hands hang by, they could not drive a Nail;
Their Pith lay in his Blood, but when he died,
How could the Nail be driven to the Head?
The Cord'ners trembl'd lest they should turn sober
Upon the Five and twentieth of October;
Two Kings they lost who did their Trade adorn,
St. Crispianus and St. Barleycorn.
Upon the Five and twentieth of October;
Two Kings they lost who did their Trade adorn,
St. Crispianus and St. Barleycorn.
The Taylors wept untill their Eyes grew dim;
For many a mourning Sute they got by him:
That they were grieved, it's easy for to think,
They could not get a Thimble full of Drink.
For many a mourning Sute they got by him:
That they were grieved, it's easy for to think,
They could not get a Thimble full of Drink.
The Weaver sprowl'd with all his Clews about him,
For he could never warp one Web without him.
For he could never warp one Web without him.
The Skinner wept, how could his Trade go on
Unless he had a Skinfull of Sir John.
Unless he had a Skinfull of Sir John.
The Baxter's Face grew blacker than his Oven,
And was almost to Desperation driven:
Twas Sir John's Blood put Life in every Loaf,
His Trade was gone when e'er Sir John went off.
And was almost to Desperation driven:
Twas Sir John's Blood put Life in every Loaf,
His Trade was gone when e'er Sir John went off.
The Peutherer mourn'd as one without all Hope
And sighing said I'll never make a Stoup,
'Twas by his Honour my Employment stood,
My Stoups were Pellets for his precious Blood.
I made his Piss-pots and his drinking Juggs,
Now I may pick my Teeth and hing my Luggs;
Before a Client come 'twill be a Moon,
Save now and then an antrin Peuther Spoon.
And sighing said I'll never make a Stoup,
'Twas by his Honour my Employment stood,
My Stoups were Pellets for his precious Blood.
I made his Piss-pots and his drinking Juggs,
Now I may pick my Teeth and hing my Luggs;
Before a Client come 'twill be a Moon,
Save now and then an antrin Peuther Spoon.
The Butcher bled and bellowed for Sir John,
And cry'd, Oh me! my elder Brother's gone,
His Blood depriv'd more People of their Life
Than e' I did kill Beasts with chopping Knife:
That Flesh is frail, is known to every One,
But who could think that Death would touch Sir John.
And cry'd, Oh me! my elder Brother's gone,
His Blood depriv'd more People of their Life
Than e' I did kill Beasts with chopping Knife:
That Flesh is frail, is known to every One,
But who could think that Death would touch Sir John.
Dueil, Dueil! the Spurrier cry'd my Deacon's dead,
'Twas I that spurr'd the Heel, but he the Head.
'Twas I that spurr'd the Heel, but he the Head.
The Saddler swore his Trade would ay grow worse,
Sir John set every Man on his high Horse.
Sir John set every Man on his high Horse.
Masons bewail'd him and burst out in Tears,
Sir John pull'd ay the House about Folks Ears.
Sir John pull'd ay the House about Folks Ears.
But how do all rejoice since his Return!
Long live the Men that rais'd him from his Urn
Let's drink a Health, long live Sir John our King
May Peace and Plenty flourish in his Reign:
T'increase his Trade, let all the World combine
And every Drinker add Amen to Mine.
Long live the Men that rais'd him from his Urn
Let's drink a Health, long live Sir John our King
May Peace and Plenty flourish in his Reign:
T'increase his Trade, let all the World combine
And every Drinker add Amen to Mine.
FINIS
| Old-Reekie's loud and joyful Acclamation, For Sir John Barleycorn his Restoration | |