“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 Gideon chose | |
By the cold well, but rather those | |
Who look on beer when it is brown, | |
Smack their lips and gulp it down. | |
Leave the lads who tamely drink | |
With Gideon by the water brink, | |
But search the benches of the Plough, | |
The Tun, the Sun, the Spotted Cow, | |
For jolly rascal lads who pray, | |
Pewter in hand, at close of day, | |
“Teach me to live that I may fear | |
The grave as little as my beer.” |