Coming now to works of a later date, the following comicality seems worthy of reproduction. It is hardly necessary to point out that the verses are a smart hit upon female ale-bibbers. They are attributed to Samuel Bishop, M.A., rector of St. Stephen’s, Walbrook (1783). “A worthy man and generally beloved,” says Dr. Hughson, LL.D., in his _London_. QUOD PETIS HIC EST. No plate had John and Joan to hoard, Plain folks in humble plight; One only tankard crown’d the board, And that was filled each night. Along whose inner bottom sketched In pride of chubby grace, Some rude engravers hand had etch’d A babys angels face, John swallowed first a moderate sup; But Joan was not like John; {329} For when her lips once touched the cup, She swill’d till all was gone. John often urged her to drink fair, But she ne’er changed a jot; She loved to see that angel there, And therefore drain’d the pot. When John found all remonstrance vain, Another card he play’d; And where the angel stood so plain, He got a devil pourtrayed. John saw the horns, Joan saw the tail, Yet Joan as stoutly quaffed; And ever when she seized her ale She cleared it at a draught. John star’d with wonder petrify’d, His hairs rose on his pate; “And Why dose guzzle now?” he cryd, “At this enormous rate?” “Oh, John,” says she, “am I to blame, I can’t in conscience stop; For sure ’twould be a burning shame To leave the devil a drop.” A collection of ale ballads and songs would hardly be complete without at least one on the “guid yill of Scotland.” Burns’ works are so well known that we fall back upon a capital Scotch song written at the close of the last century, and bearing the title _A Coggie O’ Yill_. The author was Andrew Sheriffs of Shirrefs, at one time Editor of the _Aberdeen Chronicle_. He also wrote a Scotch pastoral entitled _Jamie and Bess_, which was published in 1787, and a second time in 1790. Burns, in his Third _Northern Tour_, speaks of Sheriffs, who was a bookbinder by trade, as “a little decrepit body with some abilities.” The words of the song were set to music by a celebrated violin player, named Robert Macintosh. A COGGIE O’ YILL. A Coggie o’ Yill, And a pickle aitmeal, And a dainty wee drappie o’ whiskey, Was our forefathers dose, For to sweel down their brose And keep them aye cheery and friskey— {330} Then hey for the wiskey, and hey for the meal, And hey for the Cogie, and hey for the yill, Gin ye steer a’ thegither they’ll do unco weel, To keep a chiel cherry and brisk aye. When I see our Scots lads, Wi’ their kilts and cockauds, That sae often ha’e loundered our foes, man: I think to mysel’, On the meal and the yill, And the fruits o’ our Scottish Kail brose, man. Then hey, &c., &c. * * * * *