│21│ │ successor │ │ │ │ │ │22│ │ ♎ ♐ ☌ ♀ │ │ │ │ │ │23│ │ of the │ │ │ │ │ │24│ │defunct and │ │ │ │ │ │25│ST. CRISPIN. All _Soles_ Day. _Cobblers'_ Holiday. No│ doughty │ │ │ business done in Downing Street. │ │ │ │ │ │ │26│ │ MOORE, │ │ │ │ │ │27│ │ ☊ ♓ ♑ ♌ │ │ │ │ │ │28│ [Illustration] │ I do here │ │ │ │ present │ │29│ │ │ │ │ │ one │ │30│ │ │ │ │ │ important │ │31│Brewing ends. _Malt_-brun. Sir Matthew _Hale_. │prediction, │ └──┴─────────────────────────────────────────────────────┴────────────┘ ODE TO BEER. Hail, Beer! In all thy forms of Porter, Stingo, Stout, Swipes, Double-X, Ale, Heavy, Out-and-out, Most dear. Hail! thou that mak'st man's heart as big as Jove's! Of Ceres' gifts the best! That furnishest A cure for all our griefs: a barm for all our—loaves! Oh! Sir John Barleycorn, thou glorious Knight of Malt-a May thy fame never alter! Great Britain's Bacchus! pardon all our failings: And with thy ale ease all our ailings! I've emptied many a barrel in my time: and may be Shall empty many more Before O'er Styx I sail: Ev'n when an infant I was fond of Ale: A sort of Ale-y Baby, And still I love it, spite the gibes and jokes Of _wine_ing folks. For Stout I've stoutly fought for many a year; For Ale I'll fight till I'm laid on my _bier_.