The Cellar Door

For the next week or so we will be entertained by Clare's wonderful picture of Helpston characters who are captives of "John Barleycorn".

By the old tavern door on the causey there lay
A hogshead of stingo just rolled from a dray,
And there stood the blacksmith awaiting a drop
As dry as the cinders that lay in his shop;
And there stood the cobbler as dry as a bun,
Almost crackt like a bucket when left in the sun.
He'd whetted his knife upon pendil and hone
Till he'd not got a spittle to moisten the stone;
So ere he could work -- though he'd lost the whole day --
He must wait the new broach and bemoisten his clay.

The cellar was empty, each barrel was drained
To its dregs -- and Sir John like a rebel remained
In the street -- for removal too powerful and large
For two or three topers to take into charge.
Odd zooks, said a gipsey, with bellows to mend,
Had I strength I would just be for helping a friend
To walk on his legs: but a child in the street
Had as much power as he to put John on his feet.
Then up came the blacksmith: Sir Barley, said he,
I should just like to storm your old tower for a spree;