The Drunkard’s Catechism
Question.—What is your name?
Answer.—Drunken Sot.
Q.—Who gave you that name?
A.—As drink is my idol, landlords and their wives get all my money; they gave me that name in my drunken sprees, wherein I was made a member of strife, a child of want, and an inheritor of a bundle of rags.
Q.—What did your landlords and landladies promise for you.
A.—They did promise and vow three things in my name, first, that I should renounce the comfort of my own fire side; secondly, starve my wife and hunger my children; thirdly, walk in rags and tatters, with my shoe soles going flip flap all the days of my life.
Catechist.—Rehearse the articles of thy belief.
Answer.—I believe in the existence of one Mr Alcohol, the great head and chief of all manner of vice, the source of nine-tenths of all diseases; and I not only believe, but am sure that when my money is gone and spent, the landlord will stop the tap and turn me out.
C.—How many commandments have ye sots to keep?
A.—Ten.
C.—What be they.
A.—The same which the landlord and landlady spake in the bar, saying, We are thy master and thy mistress who brought thee out of the paths of virtue, placed thee in the ways of vice, and set thy feet on the road which leadeth to New South Wales.
I.—Thou shalt use no other house but mine.
II.—Thou shalt not make to thyself any substitute for intoxicating drinks, such as tea, coffee, ginger-pop and lemonade; for I am a jealous man, wearing the coat that should be on thy back, eating thy children’s bread, and pocketing the money which should make thee and thy wife happy all the days of thy life.
III.—Thou shalt not use my house in vain.
IV.—Remember that thou eat but one meal on the Sabbath day. Six days shalt thou drink and spend all thy money, but the seventh day is the Sabbath, wherein I wash my floor, mend my fires and make ready for the company the remaining part of the day.
V.—Thou shalt honor the landlords, the landladies, and the gin-shops with thy presence, that thy days may be few and miserable, in the land wherein thou livest.
VI.—Thou shalt commit murder, by starving, hungering, and beating thy wife and family.
VII.—Thou shalt commit self-destruction.
VIII.—Thou shalt sell thy wife’s and children’s bread and rob thyself of all thy comforts.
IX.—Thou shalt bear false witness when thou speakest of the horrors, saying, Thou art in good health when labouring under the barrel fever.
X.—Thou shalt covet all thy neighbour is possessed of; thou shalt covet his house, his land, his purse, his health, his wealth, and all that he has got, that thou mayest indulge in drunkenness, help the brewer to buy a new coach, a pair of fine horses, a new dray, and a fine building, that he may live in idleness all his days; likewise to enable the landlord to purchase a new sign to place over his door, with “Licensed to be drunk on the Premises” written thereon.
The Drunkard’s Looking Glass!
What will the drunkard do for ale?
Shall I unfold my dreadful tale?
Yes, I’ll unfold it if I can,
To benefit a drunken man.
What will a drunkard do for ale?
It will make a sober man turn pale,
Sell his hat and pawn his coat,
To satisfy his greedy throat.
Sell his stockings and his shirt,
Strut about in rags and dirt,
Sell his shoes from off his feet,
And barefoot go about the streets.
What will he do to gain his end?
He will deceive his dearest friend,
His crafty plans he will devise,
And tell the most atrocious lies.
What will a drunkard do for ale?
Dark and dismal grows my tale;
Sell his bedstead and his bed,
Nor leave a place to lay his head.
Sell his blankets and his sheets,
Lie in barns or walk the streets,
His thirsty soul will cry for more,
He’s starved and miserably poor.
He’ll beg for half-pence when he can,
And say he is a dying man;
But if three half-pence he has got,
He’ll go and find another sot.
As mean and shabby as himself,
A dirty, ragged, drunken elf,
In some alehouse corner seated,
Waiting longing to be treated.
They freely enter into chat,
If they can but catch a flat;
With every one they will be friends,
If they can but gain their ends.
Then with his bosom full of strife,
Each man goes home to beat his wife,
The children beat and sent to bed,
Because the wretches have no bread.
No meat, no butter have they got,
Such is the dwelling of a sot,
The wife in tears and ragged too,
Say, drunkard, is my statement true?
The Drunkard’s Farewell to His Folly!
Farewell landlords, farewell jerry’s,
Farewell brandy, wine, and sherry,
Farewell horrors and blue devils,
Farewell dens of midnight revels.
Farewell fires that have no coals on,
Farewell shoes that have no soles on,
Farewell children with wry faces,
Farewell to the pop-shop races.
Farewell wash and all wash vendors,
Farewell duns and all dun senders,
Farewell landlords and your spouses,
Farewell spiders and your houses.
Farewell to your noise and babble,
Farewell to your foolish gabble,
Farewell pockets that are empty,
Farewell landlords, you’ve had plenty.
London:—H. Such, Printer, 123, Union Street, Boro’—S.E. Established 1846.