Beer

A man to whom illness was chronic,
When told that he needed a tonic,
    Said, "O Doctor dear,
    Won't you please make it beer?"
"No, no," said the Doc., "that's Teutonic."

Unknown

The identity of this poet is not known. Their works, which are often of significant historical or cultural value, have been attributed to 'Unknown'. This designation is commonly used when the creator of works, ranging from ancient texts to more modern writings, remains anonymous or uncredited. Despite the lack of personal details, the impact and importance of these works endure, offering insight into the eras and cultures from which they originated.

Unknown

Nursery Rhyme. CCCCXXXVII. Jingles.

Unknown , Simple Poetry

Nursery Rhyme. DCXIV. Relics.

Unknown , Simple Poetry

Nursery Rhyme. LXXXVIII. Proverbs.

Unknown , Simple Poetry

Nursery Rhyme. DLXXVI. Natural History.

Unknown , Simple Poetry

English

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Beer.

In those old days which poets say were golden -
(Perhaps they laid the gilding on themselves:
And, if they did, I'm all the more beholden
To those brown dwellers in my dusty shelves,
Who talk to me "in language quaint and olden"
Of gods and demigods and fauns and elves,
Pans with his pipes, and Bacchus with his leopards,
And staid young goddesses who flirt with shepherds:)

In those old days, the Nymph called Etiquette
(Appalling thought to dwell on) was not born.
They had their May, but no Mayfair as yet,
No fashions varying as the hues of morn.
Just as they pleased they dressed and drank and ate,
Sang hymns to Ceres (their John Barleycorn)
And danced unchaperoned, and laughed unchecked,
And were no doubt extremely incorrect.

Yet do I think their t...

Charles Stuart Calverley

Strong Beer

"What do you think
The bravest drink
Under the sky?"
"Strong beer," said I.

"There's a place for everything,
Everything, anything,
There's a place for everything
Where it ought to be:
For a chicken, the hen's wing;
For poison, the bee's sting;
For almond-blossom, Spring;
A beerhouse for me."

"There's a prize for every one
Every one, any one,
There's a prize for every one,
Whoever he may be:
Crags for the mountaineer,
Flags for the Fusilier,
For English poets, beer!
Strong beer for me!"

"Tell us, now, how and when
We may find the bravest men?"
"A sure test, an easy test:
Those that drink beer are the best,
Brown beer strongly brewed,
English drink and English food."

Oh, never choose as Gi...

Robert von Ranke Graves

Drinking

The Frenchman loves his native wine;
    The German loves his beer;
The Englishman loves his 'alf and 'alf,
    Because it brings good cheer;
The Irishman loves his "whiskey straight,"
    Because it gives him dizziness;
The American has no choice at all,
    So he drinks the whole blamed business.

Unknown

Gambrinus

Vot ish Art? Id ish somedings to drink, objectively foregebrought in de Beaudiful. Doubtest dou? denn read, ash I hafe read, de Dyonisiacs of Nonnus, and learn dat de oopboorstin of infinite worlds into edernal Light und mad goldnen Lofeliness yea of dein own soul is typifide only py de CUP. Vot! shdill skebdigal? Tell me denn, O dou of liddle fait, vere on eart ish de kunst obtain ids highest form if not in a BIERSTADT? Ha! ha! I poke you dere!
- Caupo Recauponatus, MS. by Fritz Swackenhammer, olim candidatus theologiä at Tübingen, shoost now lagerbierwirth in St. Louis. (Dec. 1869.)

Cerevisia bibunt homines
Animalia ceterä fontes.

In a field of goldnen parley
Goot King Gambrinus shlept,
Und treamin pout de dursty volk,
Dey say he gried und vept.
In all mine land of Nederla...

Charles Godfrey Leland

Bob Polter

Bob Polter was a navvy, and
His hands were coarse, and dirty too,
His homely face was rough and tanned,
His time of life was thirty-two.

He lived among a working clan
(A wife he hadn't got at all),
A decent, steady, sober man
No saint, however not at all.

He smoked, but in a modest way,
Because he thought he needed it;
He drank a pot of beer a day,
And sometimes he exceeded it.

At times he'd pass with other men
A loud convivial night or two,
With, very likely, now and then,
On Saturdays, a fight or two.

But still he was a sober soul,
A labor-never-shirking man,
Who paid his way upon the whole
A decent English working man.

One day, when at the Nelson's Head,
(For which he may be blamed of you)
A holy m...

William Schwenck Gilbert

Bedfordshire Ballad. - II.

    "ONE GLASS OF BEER."

    Ne quid nimis.


    Tom Smith was the son of a Bedfordshire man;
    (The Smiths, we all know, are a numerous clan)
    He was happy and healthy and handsome and strong,
    And could sing on occasion a capital song.

    His father had once been a labourer poor,
    But had always contrived to keep want from the door;
    And by work and by thrift had enough in his pocket
    To rent a small farm from his landlord, and stock it.

    He died: Tom succeeded: the ladies all said
    It was high time he went to the Church to be wed;
    And Sarah and Clara, and Fanny and Bess,
    Confessed if he "offer'd" perhaps they'd say "Yes."

    But Tom fixed his eyes on the Miller's young daughter,
    And was only...

Edward Woodley Bowling