The mighty spirit, and its power, which stainsThe bloodless cheek, and vivifies the brains,I sing. Say, ye, its fiery vot'ries true,The jovial curate, and the shrill-tongued shrew,Ye, in the floods of limpid poison nurst,Where bowl the second charms like bowl the first;Say how, and why, the sparkling ill is shed,The heart which hardens, and which rules the head....Lo! the poor toper whose untutor'd sense,Sees bliss in ale, and can with wine dispense;Whose head proud fancy never taught to steer,Beyond the muddy ecstasies of beer;But simple nature can her longing quench,Behind the settle's curve, or humbler bench:Some kitchen fire diffusing warmth around,The semi-globe by hieroglyphics crown'd;Where canvas purse displays the brass enroll'd,Nor waiters rave, nor landlords thirst for gold;Ale and content his fancy's bounds confine,He asks no limpid punch, no rosy wine;But sees, admitted to an equal share,Each faithful swain the heady potion bear:Go wiser thou! and in thy scale of taste,Weigh gout and gravel against ale and rest;Call vulgar palates what thou judgest so;Say beer is heavy, windy, cold, and slow;Laugh at poor sots with insolent pretence,Yet cry, when tortured, where is Providence?
The mighty spirit, and its power, which stainsThe bloodless cheek, and vivifies the brains,I sing. Say, ye, its fiery vot'ries true,The jovial curate, and the shrill-tongued shrew,Ye, in the floods of limpid poison nurst,Where bowl the second charms like bowl the first;Say how, and why, the sparkling ill is shed,The heart which hardens, and which rules the head....Lo! the poor toper whose untutor'd sense,Sees bliss in ale, and can with wine dispense;Whose head proud fancy never taught to steer,Beyond the muddy ecstasies of beer;But simple nature can her longing quench,Behind the settle's curve, or humbler bench:Some kitchen fire diffusing warmth around,The semi-globe by hieroglyphics crown'd;Where canvas purse displays the brass enroll'd,Nor waiters rave, nor landlords thirst for gold;Ale and content his fancy's bounds confine,He asks no limpid punch, no rosy wine;But sees, admitted to an equal share,Each faithful swain the heady potion bear:Go wiser thou! and in thy scale of taste,Weigh gout and gravel against ale and rest;Call vulgar palates what thou judgest so;Say beer is heavy, windy, cold, and slow;Laugh at poor sots with insolent pretence,Yet cry, when tortured, where is Providence?
The mighty spirit, and its power, which stainsThe bloodless cheek, and vivifies the brains,I sing. Say, ye, its fiery vot'ries true,The jovial curate, and the shrill-tongued shrew,Ye, in the floods of limpid poison nurst,Where bowl the second charms like bowl the first;Say how, and why, the sparkling ill is shed,The heart which hardens, and which rules the head....Lo! the poor toper whose untutor'd sense,Sees bliss in ale, and can with wine dispense;Whose head proud fancy never taught to steer,Beyond the muddy ecstasies of beer;But simple nature can her longing quench,Behind the settle's curve, or humbler bench:Some kitchen fire diffusing warmth around,The semi-globe by hieroglyphics crown'd;Where canvas purse displays the brass enroll'd,Nor waiters rave, nor landlords thirst for gold;Ale and content his fancy's bounds confine,He asks no limpid punch, no rosy wine;But sees, admitted to an equal share,Each faithful swain the heady potion bear:Go wiser thou! and in thy scale of taste,Weigh gout and gravel against ale and rest;Call vulgar palates what thou judgest so;Say beer is heavy, windy, cold, and slow;Laugh at poor sots with insolent pretence,Yet cry, when tortured, where is Providence?
The mighty spirit, and its power, which stains
The bloodless cheek, and vivifies the brains,
I sing. Say, ye, its fiery vot'ries true,
The jovial curate, and the shrill-tongued shrew,
Ye, in the floods of limpid poison nurst,
Where bowl the second charms like bowl the first;
Say how, and why, the sparkling ill is shed,
The heart which hardens, and which rules the head....
Lo! the poor toper whose untutor'd sense,
Sees bliss in ale, and can with wine dispense;
Whose head proud fancy never taught to steer,
Beyond the muddy ecstasies of beer;
But simple nature can her longing quench,
Behind the settle's curve, or humbler bench:
Some kitchen fire diffusing warmth around,
The semi-globe by hieroglyphics crown'd;
Where canvas purse displays the brass enroll'd,
Nor waiters rave, nor landlords thirst for gold;
Ale and content his fancy's bounds confine,
He asks no limpid punch, no rosy wine;
But sees, admitted to an equal share,
Each faithful swain the heady potion bear:
Go wiser thou! and in thy scale of taste,
Weigh gout and gravel against ale and rest;
Call vulgar palates what thou judgest so;
Say beer is heavy, windy, cold, and slow;
Laugh at poor sots with insolent pretence,
Yet cry, when tortured, where is Providence?