by Joyce Jocund.
Originally published in Bentley's Miscellany (Richard Bentley).
Old Felix Tapps, kept one of those queer shops,
Called "Beer shops,"
In a monstrous thirsty neighbourhood,
And a situation very dry,
So that topers never could pass by
Without a tumbler of his prime home-brewed;
And when a customer for drink was bawling,
Tapps "followed his—calling!"
Thus Felix throve, and drew for many a year,
A famous run of business, and of—beer!
Gold, too, he earned,
Until his fortune, like his ale, was—turned!
His stout grew thin—the porter weak,—and all
His stock of strong beer, drank so very small;
In fine,
'Twas clear, that Tapps's beer
Wanted Consumption, not what it had—Decline!
So runs the tale, and much, I grieve to say,
Things badly went,
For soon the Landlord came, with Lady-day,
Asking—for rent!—
No beer he quaffed,
But urged poor Tapps—to pay—
"He wouldn't take his word for 't, nor his draught;
The whole he wanted, without diminution!"—
Tapps, thus harangued,
Bade him "be hanged!"
The Landlord said, he'd have—an "Execution!"
Tapps would have gladly drunk up all his ale, if
"Taking to drinking," would have floored the bailiff;
But conscience whispered, to his great regret,
That course would never "liquid-ate the debt."
So, Felix vowed,
He wished his debts were paid;
Or else, that like his maid,
The Sheriff had—"no followers allowed!"
That night, a broker darkened Tapps's door;
(No doubt,
The Porter wanted strength, to keep him out;)
There, for three hours, or more,
The man was waiting;
Tankards he emptied—pipes full half a score,
Yet went on smoking, in a snug arm-chair,
And ruminating,
And building castles in the air!
Railroads, with steam-boats, may have filled his dreams,
As puffing on, his reverie grew riper;—
Brokers are not the only men, whose schemes,
Beyond a joke,
Begin and end—in smoke;
Yet, will not "pay the Pipe-r!"
Doubtless the fellow would have stayed to puff,
But Tapps looked at the clock, and then
Said, "Friend, I always go to bed at ten;
You've been here long enough,
And so,
Most like,
You would not wish the clock should strike
Before—you go?"
The broker, winking, said, "Good Tapps, I'm thinking
I've got the law upon my side
Here to abide,
For I agrees,
With 'Licensed to be drunk upon the premises.'
Now, I'll bet
A crown, that I'm not half drunk yet!"—
Cried Tapps, "I'll clearly show th' intent,
Of that same 'Act of Parliament.'
It is not meet,
That folks should stay here after ten o'clock:—
Within doors, as your argument, you've tried,
Take your position—on the other side."
Then, with sudden shock,
Tapps sent the broker staggering to the street,
And locked his door—
The fellow swore
He should have proved his case beyond a doubt,
But Tapps's interruption—put him out!