Charles Stuart Calverleywas an English poet and wit. He was the literary father of what has been called "the university school of humour"... (wikipedia)
Go mad, and beat their wives; Plunge (after shocking lives) Razors and carving knives Into their gizzards.
The heart which grief hath cankered, Hath one unfailing remedy - the Tankard.
Meaning, however, is no great matter.
Oh Beer! Oh Hodgson, Guinness, Allsop, Bass! Names that should be on every infant's tongue! Shall days and months and years and centuries pass, And still your merits be unrecked, unsung?
Precious to me—it is the Dinner Bell. Oh blessed Bell! Thou bringest beef and beer...
But what is coffee, but a noxious berry, Born to keep used-up Londoners awake?
But ah! disasters have their use; And life might e'en be too sunshiny...
The auld wife sat at her ivied door, (Butter and eggs and a pound of cheese) A thing she had frequently done before; And her spectacles lay on her apron'd knees...
The farmer's daughter hath soft brown hair And I met with a ballad, I can't say where, That wholly consisted of lines like these.
I've read in many a novel, that unless they've souls that grovel-- Folks prefer in fact a hovel to your dreary marble halls.
I can not sing the old songs now! It is not that I deem them low, 'Tis that I can't remember how They go.
Should ever anything be missed - milk, coals, umbrellas, brandy - the cat's pitched into with a boot or anything that's handy.
I sit alone at present, dreaming darkly of a Dun.
Life is with such all beer and skittles. They are not difficult to please About their victuals.
Read not Milton, for he is dry; nor Shakespeare, for he wrote of common life.
I know you've been married to the same woman for 69 years. That is marvellous. It must be very inexpensive.
I cannot sing the old songs now! It is not that I deem them low, 'Tis that I can't remember how They go.