A Prohibition Rubaiyat

GEORGE S. CHAPPELL

BEFORE the phantom of Near-beer was tried,

Methought a Voice within the Tavern cried—

"When all the Cocktails are prepared within,

Why nod the drowsy Bevo-birds outside?"

Myself, when young, did earnestly frequent

Tap-room and Bar, with many another Gent;

And loudly sang, till 1 was rudely thrust

Through the same Swinging doors wherein I went.

Well I remember how, with brave carouse,

I took one Mamie Taylor to my house,

And there, with Widow Cliquot, just we three,

Acquired a great and monumental Souse.

I sometimes think that never blooms so red

The Nose, as where some buried Highball sped;

That every Pound of Paunch the Clubman wears,

Dropped in his Lap from his once aching Head.

A Book of Curses underneath the Bough;

A Glass of Milk, a Cake of yeast, a Cow,

And Congress crying "This is Paradise!"

Ah! Paradise were wilderness, I vow.

Then fill the Cup; and, in the fire of Spring,

The black Frock-coat of Prohibition fling.

Our Private-stock has but a little way

To flutter, and, Lord knows, it's on the wing.

And when, like Ganymede with brimming Glass,

The Waiters their clandestine Cocktails pass,

And on their happy Errand reach the Spot

Where I make moan-fill up my Demi Tasse!