Classic Poem

When humming bright beer was an Englishman's taste,
Our wives they were merry, our daughters were chaste,
Their breath smelt like roses whenever embraced.
Oh, the bright beer of old England!
Oh, the old English bright beer!

Ere coffee and tea found the way to the town,
Our ancestors by their own fire sat down;
Their bread it was white, and their beer it was brown.
Oh, the brown beer of old England!
Oh, the old English brown beer!

Our heroes of old, of whose conquests we boast,
Would make a good meal of a pot and a toast;
This maxim ne'er failed in ruling the roast.
Oh, the brown beer, etc.

When the great Spanish fleet on our coast did appear,
Our sailors each one drank a flagon of beer,
And sent them away with a flea in the ear.
Oh, the bright beer, etc.

Our clergymen then took a cup of good beer,
Ere they mounted the rostrum, their spirits to cheer;
They preached against vice, although courtiers were near.
Oh, the bright beer, etc.

Their doctrines were then authentic and bold,
Well grounded on Scripture and fathers of old;
But now they preach nothing but what they are told.
Oh, the bright beer, etc.

For since the Geneva and strong ratifie,
We are dwindled to nothing—but stay, let me see
Faith! nothing at all but mere fiddle-de-dee.
Oh, the bright beer of old England!
Oh, the old English bright beer!