University of Virginia Library

The Pewter Quart.

A NEW SONG TO AN OLD TUNE—WRITTEN AND COMPOSED FOR THE JOLLIFICATION OF BIBBERS OF BEER, PORTER, ALE, STOUT, NAPPY, AND ALL OTHER CONFIGURATIONS OF MALT AND HOP.

Preface to the Reader, which serves also for Invocation.

2.

As for the glass, though I love it well,
Yet the quart I take to be prefera—ble;
For it is solid and stout, like what
Bubbles and froths inside the pot:
Why should anything, brittle or frail,
Fence England's liquor, valorous ale!
He was a man of taste and art,
Who stowed it away in a Pewter Quart.

3.

In the bowels of England's ground,
Its materials all are found,
From its sides should flow again,
What cheers the bowels of England's men:
Can the same be said, I ask,
In favour of foreign flagon or flask?
None can of them the good report,
We can of our national Pewter Quart.

4.

Pleasant it is their shine to see,
Like stars in the waves of deep Galilee;
Pleasant it is their chink to hear,
When they rattle on table full charged with beer;
Pleasant it is, when a row's on foot,
That you may, when you wish to demolish a brute,
Politely the man to good manners exhort,
By softening his skull with a Pewter Quart.

5.

As for the mallet-pate, pig-eye Chinese,
They may make crockery if they please;
Fit, perhaps, may such vehicle be,
For marrowless washes of curst Bohea;
That is a liquor I leave to be drunk
By Cockney poet and Cockney punk;
Folks with whom I never consort,
Preferring to chat with my Pewter Quart.

6.

Silver and gold no doubt are fine,
But on my table shall never shine;
Being a man of plain common sense,
I hate all silly and vain expense,
And spend the cash these gew-gaws cost,
In washing down gobbets of boiled and roast,
With stingo stiff of the stiffest sort,
Curiously pulled from a Pewter Quart.

7.

Bakers and bowls, I am told, of wood,
For quaffing water are counted good;
They give a smack, say the wat'ry folks,
Like drinking after artichokes,
Devil may care! I never use
Water in either my belly or shoes;
And shall never be counted art or part
In putting the same in a Pewter Quart.

8.

Galvani one day, skinning a frog,
To pamper his paunch with that pinch-gut prog,
Found out a science of wonderful wit,
Which can make a stuck pig kick out in a fit.
Make a dead thief dance a Highland reel,
And butcher a beast without cleaver or steel:
And he proves by this science with erudite art,
That malt must be drunk from a Pewter Quart.

9.

If Hock then loves the glass of green,
And champagne in its swan-necked flask is seen;
If Glasgow punch in a bowel we lay,
And twist off our dram in a wooden quaigh;
If, as botanical men admit,
Everything has its habitat fit,
Let Sir John Barleycorn keep his court,
Turban'd with froth in his Pewter Quart.

10.

So, boy, take this handful of brass,
Across to the Goose and Gridiron pass,
Count the coin on the counter out,
And bring me a quart of foaming stout;
Put it not into bottle or jug,
Cannikin, rumkin, flagon, or mug—
Into nothing at all, in short,
Except the natural Pewter Quart.