patience of a malt horse to see the contempt of barly, and not run mad upon’t.”
Presently the indignant writer waxes merry, having probably paid his respects to the despised beverage, and he breaks forth into a spirited catch:
We care not for money, riches, or wealth,
Old sack is our money, old sack is our wealth,
Then let’s flock hither,
Like birds of a feather,
To drinke, to fling,
To laugh and sing,
Conferring our notes together.[1]
A vigorous denunciation of those who imposed duties on ale was made in 1649, in a pamphlet entitled “A Curse against Parliament Ale, with a Blessing to the Juncto, a Thanksgiving to the Council of State, and a Psalm to Oliver.” It was imprinted “Noll-Noll, 1649,” and this allusion to Cromwell was followed by very strong language:
Base miscreants, rebells, could ye not invent
Some other plage in your damned parliament,
To vex good fellows, but you must put down
Strong ale, the chief upholder of the crown?
Now against winter, too, in snow and frost,
Basely to rob us of our pot and tost!
The ancient drink of England to forbid,
The cursed’st act the juncto ever did!
Nor was the writer content with this expression of his opinion. He aimed a few personal strokes at those who had countenanced a tax of eight shillings a barrel on “strong beer and ale,” and one shilling a barrel on cyder and perry:
How you doe thrive by theft and live by murder,
Goe on in fraud till you can goe no further;
And when on top of all your haughty pride,
Make yourselves saints by acting regicide.
He wishes, in rhyming prose, that the food of the “juncto” may be “hopps and grayns;” and Cromwell is anathematised by him in no complimentary terms.
Strong ale was at this period the popular drink in England. No merry-making could progress satisfactorily without it: in the houses of the humbler classes “nut brown ale” was deemed indispensable as at a marriage or christening feast, or at any rural festival. In the ballad which recounts the “Pedigree, Education, and Marriage of Robin Hood,” we are shown how important a part was played by the March brew on a certain interesting occasion:—
The morrow, when mass had been said in the chapel,
Six tables were cover’d in the hall,
And in comes the squire and makes a short speech,
It was, “Neighbours, you’re welcome all;
But not a man here shall taste my March beer,
Till a Christmas carol he does sing.”
Then all clap’t their hands, and they shouted and sung,
Till the hall and the parlour did ring.
******
When dinner was ended his chaplain said grace,
And “Be merry, my friends,” said the squire:
“It rains and it blows, but call for more ale,
And lay some more wood on the fire.”
Nor has this pride in home-brewed ale yet departed from the families of all our English squires. There are houses where the host still thinks his stout October superior to the oldest wines in his cellars, and delights in seeing the field take a deep, long draught before starting off in the wake of the hounds. Very potent, too, is this country-house ale, and seductive in the influence it exerts. Woe to the inexperienced youth who attempts to rival his hosts’ achievements, and to empty the horn or tankard! In Robin Hood’s days men could drink anything, as we may learn from another old ballad describing a great feast given by Little John:—
They all with a shout made the elements ring,
With a hey down, downe, and a downe,
So soon as the office was o’er,
To feasting they went with true merriment,
And tippled strong liquore gillore.
We live here like squires or lords of renown,
Without e’re a foot of free land,
We feast on good cheer, with wine, ale, and beer,
And ev’ry thing at our command.
Jolly fellows were these! Even the ladies were not proof against the attractions of ale. Here is “an old woman’s wish:”—
With a sermon on Sundays and a Bible of good print,
With a pot on the fire, and good victuals in’t,
With ale, beer, and brandy, both winter and summer,
To drink to my gossip and be pledg’d by my commer.
In “Times Alteration,” another of these long-forgotten ditties, the bard laments modern changes, but does not deny to wine its proper tribute of praise:—
A man might then behold,
At Christmas, in each hall,
Good fires to curb the cold,
And meat for great and small;
The neighbours were freely bidden,
And all had welcome true,
The poor from the gate were not chidden,
When this old cap was new.
Blackjacks to every man
Were filled with wine and beer,
No pewter pot nor can
In those days did appear;
Good cheer in a nobleman’s house
Was counted a goodly show,
We wanted no brawn nor souse,
When this old cap was new.
If the statements of our old ballads are to be accepted as historical facts, his Majesty King Henry II. once revelled with his subjects over some ale:—
Then to their supper were they set orderly,
With a hot bag-pudding and good apple-pies.
Nappy ale, good and stale, in a brown bowl,
Which did about the board merrily rowl.
And the king then drank to the knight,
“Here’s to you,” he said, “in wine, ale, and beer,
Thanking you all for your county cheer.”
Quoth Sir John Cockle, “I’ll pledge you a pottle,
With the best ale in Nottinghamshire.”[2]
