The Hope of the World and other poems by Charles Mackay |
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COUNT CASK-O'-WHISKEY AND HIS
THREE HOUSES.
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 | The Hope of the World and other poems |  |
190
COUNT CASK-O'-WHISKEY AND HIS THREE HOUSES.
A TEMPERANCE BALLAD,
INTENDED AS A COMPANION TO SIR JOHN BARLEYCORN.
There is a demon in the land,
A demon fierce, though frisky,
Who steals the souls of mortal men,
His name is Cask-o'-Whiskey.
A demon fierce, though frisky,
Who steals the souls of mortal men,
His name is Cask-o'-Whiskey.
Lo! mounted on a fiery steed
He rides through town and village,
And calls the workman from his shop,
The farmer from his tillage.
He rides through town and village,
And calls the workman from his shop,
The farmer from his tillage.
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Clutch'd in his lanky, red right hand,
He holds a mighty bicker,
Whose polish'd sides run daily o'er
With floods of burning liquor.
He holds a mighty bicker,
Whose polish'd sides run daily o'er
With floods of burning liquor.
Around him press the clamorous crowds
To taste this liquor greedy;
But chiefly come the poor and sad,
The suffering and the needy.
To taste this liquor greedy;
But chiefly come the poor and sad,
The suffering and the needy.
All those oppress'd by grief or debts,
The dissolute, the lazy,
Draggle-tail'd sluts and shirtless men,
And young girls lewd and crazy.
The dissolute, the lazy,
Draggle-tail'd sluts and shirtless men,
And young girls lewd and crazy.
“Give, give!” they cry, “give, give us drink!
Give us your burning liquor!
We'll empty fast as you can fill
Your fine capacious bicker.
Give us your burning liquor!
We'll empty fast as you can fill
Your fine capacious bicker.
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“Give, give us drink, to drown our care,
And make us light and frisky,
Give, give! and we will bless thy name,
Thou good Count Cask-o'-Whiskey.”
And make us light and frisky,
Give, give! and we will bless thy name,
Thou good Count Cask-o'-Whiskey.”
And when the demon hears them cry,
Right merrily he laugheth,
And holds his bicker out to all,
And each poor idiot quaffeth.
Right merrily he laugheth,
And holds his bicker out to all,
And each poor idiot quaffeth.
The first drop warms their shivering skins,
And drives away their sadness;
The second lights their sunken eyes,
And fills their souls with gladness.
And drives away their sadness;
The second lights their sunken eyes,
And fills their souls with gladness.
The third drop makes them shout and roar,
And play each furious antic;
The fourth drop boils their very blood,
And the fifth drop drives them frantic!
And play each furious antic;
The fourth drop boils their very blood,
And the fifth drop drives them frantic!
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And still they drink the burning draught,
Till old Count Cask-o'-Whiskey
Holds his bluff sides with laughter fierce,
To see them all so frisky.
Till old Count Cask-o'-Whiskey
Holds his bluff sides with laughter fierce,
To see them all so frisky.
“More, more!” they cry, “come, give us more,
More of that right good liquor;
Fill up, old boy, that we may drain
Down to the dregs your bicker!”
More of that right good liquor;
Fill up, old boy, that we may drain
Down to the dregs your bicker!”
The demon spurs his fiery steed,
And laughs a laugh so hollow,
Then waves his bicker in the air,
And beckons them to follow.
And laughs a laugh so hollow,
Then waves his bicker in the air,
And beckons them to follow.
On, on he rides, and onwards rush
The eager crowd, exclaiming,
“O Cask-o'-Whiskey, give us more,
More of thy liquor flaming!”
The eager crowd, exclaiming,
“O Cask-o'-Whiskey, give us more,
More of thy liquor flaming!”
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At last he stops his foaming steed
Beside a rushing river,
Whose waters to the palate sweet
Are poison to the liver.
Beside a rushing river,
Whose waters to the palate sweet
Are poison to the liver.
“There!” says the demon, “drink your fill!
Drink of these waters mellow;
They'll make your bright eyes blear and dull,
And turn your white skins yellow.
Drink of these waters mellow;
They'll make your bright eyes blear and dull,
And turn your white skins yellow.
“They'll cause the little sense you have
By inches to forsake you;
They'll cause your limbs to faint and fail,
And palsies dire to shake you.
By inches to forsake you;
They'll cause your limbs to faint and fail,
And palsies dire to shake you.
“They'll fill your homes with care and grief,
And clothe your backs with tatters;
They'll fill your hearts with evil thoughts;
But never mind—what matters?
And clothe your backs with tatters;
They'll fill your hearts with evil thoughts;
But never mind—what matters?
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“Though virtue sink and reason fail,
And social ties dissever,
I'll be your friend in hour of need,
And find you homes for ever.
And social ties dissever,
I'll be your friend in hour of need,
And find you homes for ever.
“For I have built three mansions high,
Three strong and goodly houses,
To lodge at last each jolly soul
Who all his life carouses.
Three strong and goodly houses,
To lodge at last each jolly soul
Who all his life carouses.
“The first it is a goodly house,
Black are its walls and high,
And full of dungeons deep and fast,
Where death-doom'd felons lie.
Black are its walls and high,
And full of dungeons deep and fast,
Where death-doom'd felons lie.
“The second is a lazar-house,
Rank, fetid, and unholy,
Where, fetter'd by diseases foul,
And hopeless melancholy,
Rank, fetid, and unholy,
Where, fetter'd by diseases foul,
And hopeless melancholy,
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“The victims of potations deep
Pine on their couch of sadness,
Some calling death to end their pain,
And some imploring madness.
Pine on their couch of sadness,
Some calling death to end their pain,
And some imploring madness.
“The third house is a spacious house,
To all but sots appalling,
Where, by the parish bounty fed,
Vile, in the sunshine crawling,
To all but sots appalling,
Where, by the parish bounty fed,
Vile, in the sunshine crawling,
“The worn-out drunkard ends his days,
And eats the dole of others,
A plague and burthen to himself,
An eye-sore to his brothers.
And eats the dole of others,
A plague and burthen to himself,
An eye-sore to his brothers.
“So drink the waters of this stream,
Drain deep the cup of ruin,
Drink, and like heroes madly rush
Each man to his undoing.
Drain deep the cup of ruin,
Drink, and like heroes madly rush
Each man to his undoing.
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“One of my mansions high and strong,
One of my goodly houses,
Is sure to lodge each jolly soul
Who to the dregs carouses!”
One of my goodly houses,
Is sure to lodge each jolly soul
Who to the dregs carouses!”
Into the stream his courser leaps,
And all the crowd leaps after,
While over hill and valley wide
Resound loud peals of laughter.
And all the crowd leaps after,
While over hill and valley wide
Resound loud peals of laughter.
For well he knows, this demon old,
How vain is all his preaching;—
The ragged crew that round him flock
Are too far gone for teaching.
How vain is all his preaching;—
The ragged crew that round him flock
Are too far gone for teaching.
Even as they wallow in the stream,
They cry aloud, quite frisky,
“Here's to thy health, thou best of friends,
Kind, generous Cask-o'-Whiskey!
They cry aloud, quite frisky,
“Here's to thy health, thou best of friends,
Kind, generous Cask-o'-Whiskey!
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“We care not for thy houses three,
We live but for the present,
And merry will we make it yet,
And quaff these waters pleasant.”
We live but for the present,
And merry will we make it yet,
And quaff these waters pleasant.”
Loud laughs the fiend to hear them speak,
And lifts his brimming bicker:
“Drink, fools!” quoth he, “you'll pay your scot,
I'll have your souls for liquor!”
And lifts his brimming bicker:
“Drink, fools!” quoth he, “you'll pay your scot,
I'll have your souls for liquor!”
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THE END.
| The Hope of the World and other poems | |