The auld wife sat at her ivied door, (Butter and eggs and a pound of cheese) A thing she had frequently done before; And her spectacles lay on her apron'd knees.

Oh Beer! Oh Hodgson, Guinness, Allsop, Bass! Names that should be on every infant's tongue! Shall days and months and years and centuries pass, And still your merits be unrecked, unsung?

But ah! disasters have their use; And life might e'en be too sunshiny.

Meaning, however, is no great matter.

The heart which grief hath cankered, Hath one unfailing remedy - the Tankard.

Precious to me - it is the Dinner Bell. Oh blessed Bell! Thou bringest beef and beer.

But what is coffee, but a noxious berry, Born to keep used-up Londoners awake?