Nottingham Ale

 

 Fair Venus, the goddess of beauty and love

    Arose from the froth which swam on the sea

    Minerva leapt out of the cranium of Jove

    A coy, sullen slut, as most authors agree

    Bold Bacchus, they tell us, the prince of good fellas

    Was a natural son, pray attend to my tale

    And they that thus chatter, mistake quite the matter

    He sprung from a barrel of Nottingham Ale!

 

        Nottingham Ale, boys, Nottingham Ale

        No liquor on earth is like Nottingham Ale!

        Nottingham Ale, boys, Nottingham Ale

        No liquor on earth like Nottingham Ale!

 

And having survey'd well the cask whence he sprung

    For want of more liquor, low spirited grew

    He mounted astride to the jolly cask clung

    And away to the gods and the goddess flew

    But when he look'd down and saw the fair town

    To pay it due honours, not likely to fail

    He swore that on earth 'twas the town of his birth

    And the best – and no liquor like Nottingham ale

 

Ye bishops and deacons, priests, curates and vicars

    When once you have tasted, you'll own it is true

    That Nottingham Ale, it's the best of all liquors

    And who understands the good creature like you

    It expels every vapor, saves pen, ink and paper

    And when you're disposed from the pulpit to rail

    T'will open your throats, you may preach without notes

    When inspired with a bumper of Nottingham Ale

 

Ye doctors who more execution have done

    With powder and bolus, with potion and pill

    Than hangman with halter, or soldier with gun

    Than miser with famine, a lawyer with quill

    To dispatch us the quicker, you forbid us malt liquor

    Till our bodies consume and our faces grow pale

    But mind it what pleases and cures all diseases

    Is a comfortable dose of good Nottingham Ale

 

(Ye poets, who brag of the Helicon brook

    The nectar of gods, and the juice of the vine

    You say none can write well, except they invoke

    The friendly assistance of one of the nine

    Her liquor surpasses the stream of Parnassus

    The nectar Ambrosia, on which gods regale

    Experience will show it, nought makes a good poet

    Like quantum sufficit of Nottingham ale)