The Curiosities of Ale & Beer. John Bickerdyke
for our masters, All may be Ale-tasters, Good things the more common the better, Sack’s but single broth, Ale’s meat, drinke, and cloathe, Say they that know never a letter.
But not to entangle Old friends till they wrangle And quarrell for other men’s pleasure; Let Ale keep his place, And let Sack have his grace, So that neither exceed the due measure.
“Wine is but single broth, ale is meat, drink and cloth,” was a proverbial saying in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, and occurs in many writings, both prose and poetical. John Taylor, for instance, writes that ale is the “warmest lining of a naked man’s coat.” “Barley broth” and “oyle of barley” were very common expressions for ale. “Dagger ale” was very strong malt liquor. The word “ale-tasters” will be fully explained later on. {10}
The nearest approach in modern times to a denunciation of wine by an ale-favouring poet occurs in a few lines—by whom written we know not—cleverly satirising the introduction of cheap French wines into this country. Cheap clarets command, thanks to an eminent statesman, a considerable share of popular favour. If unadulterated, they are no doubt wholesome enough, and suitable for some specially constituted persons. Let those who like them drink them, by all means.
MALT LIQUOR, OR CHEAP FRENCH WINES.
No ale or beer, says Gladstone, we should drink, Because they stupefy and dull our brains. But sour French wine, as other people think, Our English stomachs often sorely pains. The question then is which we most should dread, An aching belly or an aching head?
Among famous ale songs of the past, Jolly Good Ale and Old, which has been wrongly attributed to Bishop Still, stands pre-eminent. Of the eight double stanzas composing the song, four were incorporated in “a ryght pithy, plesaunt, and merie comedie, intytuled, Gammer Gurton’s Nedle, played on stage not longe ago, in Christe’s Colledge, in Cambridge. Made by Mr. S——, Master of Art” (1575). According to Dyer, who possessed a MS., giving the song in its complete form, “it is certainly of an earlier date,” and could not have been by Mr. Still (afterwards Bishop of Bath and Wells), the Master of Trinity College, who was probably the writer of the play. The “merrie comedie” well illustrates the difference of tone and thought which divides those days from the present, and it is a little difficult to understand how it could have been produced by the pen of a High Church dignitary. The prologue of the play is very quaint, it runs thus:—
PROLOGUE.
As Gammer Gurton, with manye a wyde styche, Sat pesynge and patching of Hodge her man’s briche, By chance or misfortune, as shee her geare tost, In Hodge lether bryches her needle shee lost. When Diccon the bedlam had hard by report, That good Gammer Gurton was robde in thys sorte, He quyetlye perswaded with her in that stound, Dame Chat, her deare gossyp, this needle had found. Yet knew shee no more of this matter, alas, {11} Then knoweth Tom our clarke what the Priest saith at masse, Hereof there ensued so fearfull a fraye, Mas. Doctor was sent for, these gossyps to staye; Because he was curate, and esteemed full wyse, Who found that he sought not, by Diccon’s device. When all things were tumbled and cleane out of fashion, Whether it were by fortune, or some other constellation, Suddenlye the neele Hodge found by the prychynge, And drew out of his buttocke, where he found it stickynge, Theyr hartes then at rest with perfect securytie, With a pot of Good ale they stroake up theyr plauditie.
The song, Jolly Good Ale and Old, four stanzas of which occur in the second act, is a good record of the spirit of those hard-drinking days, now passed away, in which a man who could not, or did not, consume vast quantities of liquor was looked upon as a milksop. It is given as follows in the Comedy:—
Back and syde go bare, go bare, Booth foote and hande go colde; But belly, God send thee good ale ynoughe, Whether it bee newe or olde.
I can not eate but lytle meate, My stomache is not goode, But, sure, I thinke, that I can drynk With him that wears a hood.2 Thoughe I go bare, take ye no care, I am nothynge a colde; I stuffe my skyn so full within Of jolly good ale, and olde.
Back and syde go bare, go bare, &c., &c.
3I love no rost, but a nut-brown toste, And a crab layde in the fyre; A lytle bread shall do me stead, Much bread I not desyre. {12}
No froste nor snow, no winde, I trow, Can hurte mee if I wolde, I am so wrapt, and throwly lapt, Of joly good ale and olde.
Back and syde go bare, go bare, &c., &c.
And Tyb, my wife, that as her lyfe Loveth well good ale to seeke, Full ofte drinkes shee, tyll ye may see, The teares run down her cheekes; Then doth she trowle to mee the bowle4 Even as a mault worme shuld And sayth, sweet hart, I tooke my part Of this joly good ale, and olde.
Back and syde go bare, go bare, &c., &c.
Now let them drynke, tyll they nod and winke, Even as good fellowes shoulde doe, They shall not misse to have the blisse Good ale doth bringe men to: And all poor soules, that have scoured boules, Or have them lustely trolde, God save the lyves of them and their wyves, Whether they be yonge or olde.
Back and syde go bare, go bare, &c., &c.
2 Alluding to the drunkenness of the clergy.
3 Cf:
“And sometimes lurk I in a gossip’s bowl, In very likeness of a roasted crab.”
Midsummer Night’s Dream, Act ii. Scene 1.
4 The word “trowle” was used of passing the vessel about, as appears by the beginning of an old catch:
Trole, trole the bowl to me, And I will trole the same again to thee.
Charles Dibdin the younger has, in a couple of verses, told a very amusing little story of an old fellow who, in addition to finding that ale was meat, drink and cloth, discovered that it included friends as well—or, at any rate, when he was without ale he was without friends, which comes to much the same thing.
THE BARREL OF HUMMING ALE.
Old Owen lived on the brow of an hill, And he had more patience than pelf; A small plot of ground was his labour to till, {13} And he toiled through the day by himself. But at night crowds of visitors called at his cot, For he told a right marvellous tale; Yet a stronger attraction by chance he had got, A barrel of old humming ale.
Old Owen by all was an oracle thought, While they drank not a joke failed to hit; But Owen at last by experience was taught, That wisdom is better than wit. One night his cot could scarce hold the gay rout, The next not a soul heard his tale, The moral is simply they’d fairly drank out His barrel of old humming ale.
For the sake of contrast with the foregoing songs, if for nothing else, the following poem (save the mark!) by George Arnold, a Boston rhymster, is worthy of perusal. The “gurgle-gurgle” of the athletic salmon-fisher, described by Mr. Francis, is replaced by the “idle sipping” (fancy sipping beer!) of the beer-garden frequenter.
BEER.
Here With my beer I sit, While golden moments flit: Alas! They pass Unheeded by: And, as they fly, I, Being dry, Sit, idly sipping here My beer.
The new generation of American poets do not mean, it would appear, to be confined in the old metrical grooves. Very different in style are the verses written on ale by Thomas Wharton, in 1748. A Panegyric on Oxford Ale is the title of the poem, which is prefaced by the lines from Horace:—
Mea nec Falernæ Temperant vites, neque Formiani Pocula colles.
{14}
The