Classic Poem

God above who rules all things,
Monks, and abbots, and beggars and kings,
The ships that on the sea do swim,
The earth and all that is therein.
Not forgetting the old cow's hide;
And everything else in the world beside;
For when we've said and done all we can,
'Tis all for the good and use of man.
So I hope his soul in heaven may dwell,
That first devised the leather bottel.

Now what do you say to these cans of wood?
Oh no, in faith, they cannot be good;
For if the bearer fall by the way,
Why on the ground your liquor doth lay;
But had it been a leather bottel,
Although he had fallen, all had been well.
So I hope his soul, etc.

What say ye to these glasses fine?
Faith! they shall have no praise of mine;
For if you touch your glass on the brim,
The liquor falls out and leaves none therein,
And though your tablecloth be ever so fine,
There lies your beer, your ale, your wine;
Whereas had it been the leather bottel,
And the stopper been in, it had been well:
So I hope his soul, etc.

What do you say to these tankards fine?
Faith! they shall have no praise of mine!
For when a lord is about to dine,
And sends them to be filled with wine,
The man with the tankard doth run away,
Because it is silver most gallant and gay.
So I hope his soul, etc.

Then what do you say to these black jacks three?
Faith they shall have no praise from me;
For when a man and his wife are at strife,
Which is much too often the case in life,
Why then they seize on the black jack both,
And in the scuffle they spill the broth;
Not thinking that at a future day
They must account for throwing good liquor away;
Whereas had it been the leather bottel,
And the stopper been in, they could have banged away well.
So I hope his soul, etc.

A leather bottel we know is good,
Far better than glasses or cans or wood,
For when a man's at work in the field,
Your glasses and pots no comforts will yield
But a good leather bottel standing by,
Will raise his spirits, whenever he's dry.
So I hope his soul, etc.

At noon the haymakers sit them down,
To drink from their bottels of ale so brown;
In summer, too, when the weather is warm,
A good bottel full will do them no harm.
Then the lads and the lasses begin to tattle,
But what would they do without this bottel.
So I hope his soul, etc.

There's never a lord, an earl, or knight,
But in this bottel doth take delight;
For when he's hunting of the deer,
He oft doth wish for a bottel of beer.
Likewise the man that works in the wood,
A bottel of beer will oft do him good.
So I hope, etc.

And when the bottel at last grows old,
And will good liquor no longer hold,
Out of the side you may make a clout,
To mend your shoes when they're worn out;
Or take and hang it up on a pin,
'Twill serve to put your odd trifles in—
So I hope his soul in heaven may dwell
That first devised the leather bottel.