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Robert W Service - Dram-Shop Ditty
Work rating: Low

I drink my fill of foamy ale
I sing a song, I tell a tale,
I play the fiddle;
My throat is chronically dry,
Yet savant of a sort am I,
And Life`s my riddle.

For look! I raise my arm to drink-
A voluntary act, you think
(Nay, Sir, you`re grinning)>
You`re wrong: this stein of beer I`ve drained
to emptiness was pre-ordained
Since Time`s beginning.

But stay! `Tis I who err, because
Time has no birth; it always was,
It will be ever;
And trivial though my act appears,
Its repercussion down the years
Will perish never.

It will condition ages hence,
but its most urgent consequence,
You`ll not deny, Sir,
Is that it should be filled again
To goad my philosophic brain,
If you will buy, Sir.

There is no great, there is no small;
Fate makes a tapestry of all,
each stitch is needed . . .
The gods be praised! that barman chap
Manipulates his frothing tap -
My plea is heeded.

Two foaming tankards over-spill,
And soon, ah! not too soon, they will
Our thirst be slaking.
Stout lad! he does not dream that he
A page of history maybe
Is blandly making.

For Sir, it was ordained that you
Buy me a drink (or maybe two)
Since ages hoary;
And doubtless it is predestined
our meeting shall affect in kind
Earth`s Cosmic Story.

The fathomless, eternal Past,
The Future infinitely vast,
We two are linking;
So let us fitly celebrate
This moment of immortal Fate
In drinking, drinking.

But though I toss a hearty pot,
Kind stranger, do not think I`m not
For Truth a groper . . .
Another? Thanks, I won`t refuse,
I am a tippler, if you choose,
But not a toper.

A nice distinction! . . . Well, life`s good;
Just give me beer, rich greasy food,
And let me fiddle;
Enough of dull philosophy;
To-night we`ll merry, merry be . . .
Hi-diddle-diddle.
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