THE DRAM-SHOP; OR A PEEP INTO A PRISON.
[]LOOK through the land from North to South,
And look from Eaſt to Weſt;
And ſee what is to Iriſhmen,
Of Life the deadlieſt Peſt.
It is not Want, tho' that is bad,
Nor war, tho' that is worſe;
But Ireland's ſons endure, alas!
A ſelf-inflicted Curſe.
Go where you will throughout the Realm
You'll find that every vice,
In Cities, Villages and Towns;
From WHISKEY takes its riſe.
The Prince of darkneſs never ſent
To Man a deadlier foe,
"My name is Legion," it may ſay,
The ſource of every woe.
Nor does the fiend alone deprive
The labourer of his wealth;
That is not all, it murders too
His honeſt name and health.
We ſay the times are grievous hard,
And hard they are, 'tis true;
But, Drunkards, to your wives and babes
They're harder made by you.
The Drunkard's Tax is ſelf-impos'd,
And hardeſt to endure,
Not all the Taxes half ſo much
Oppreſs the lab'ring poor.
The State compels no man to drink,
Compels no man to game;
'Tis vice and WHISKEY ſink him down
To rags, and want, and ſhame.
The kindeſt huſband chang'd by theſe
Is for a tyrant known;
The tendereſt heart that Nature made,
Becomes a heart of ſtone.
In many a houſe the harmleſs babes
Are poorly cloth'd and fed;
Becauſe the craving DRAM-SHOP takes
The children's daily bread.
It oft has robb'd the heedleſs youth
Of health and ſenſes too,
And plung'd his never dying ſoul
In everlaſting Woe.
Come neighbour take a walk with me,
Thro' many a Dublin Street;
And ſee the cauſe of penury,
In hundreds we ſhall meet.
[figure]
We ſhall not need to travel far—
Behold that great man's door;
He well diſcerns that idle crew,
From the deſerving poor.
He will relieve with liberal hand
The child of honeſt thrift:
But where long ſcores at DRAM-SHOPS ſtand
He will with-hold his gi [...]t.
Behold that ſhivering female there,
Who plies her woeful trade!
Tis WHISKEY ten to one you'll find,
That hopeleſs wretch has made.
Look down thoſe ſteps, and view below
Yon cellar under ground;
There every want, and every woe,
And every Sin, is found.
Thoſe little wretches trembling there,
With hunger and with cold,
Were by their parents love of drink,
To Sin and Miſery ſold.
Bleſt be thoſe friends * to human kind,
Who take thoſe wretches up,
Ere they have drunk the bitter dregs
Of their ſad parents cup.
Look thro' that priſon's iron bars,
Look thro' that diſmal grate;
And learn what dire misfortunes brought
So terrible a fate.
The Debtor and the Felon too,
Tho' differing in diſgrace,
By WHISKEY you'll too often find,
Were brought to this ſad place.
Yet Heaven forbid I ſhould confound
Calamity with guilt!
Or name the Debtor's leſſer fault,
With blood of brother ſpilt.
To priſon dire misfortunes oft
The guiltleſs debtor bring;
Yet oft'ner far it will be found
His Woes from WHISKEY ſpring.
See the pale Manufact'rer there,
How lank and lean he lies!
How haggard is his ſickly cheek!
How dim his hollow eyes!
He plied the loom with good ſucceſs,
His wages ſtill were high;
Twice what the village lab'rer gains,
His maſter did ſupply.
No book-debts kept him from his caſh,
All paid as ſoon as due;
His wages on the Saturday
To [...]ail be never knew.
How amply had his gains ſuffic'd,
On wife and children ſpent!
But all muſt for his pleaſure go;
All to the DRAM-SHOP went.
See that Apprentice, young in years;
But hackney'd long in vice,
What made him rob his maſter's till?
Ah! WHISKEY did entice.
That ſerving Man—I knew him once,
So jaunty, ſpruce, and ſmart!
Why did he ſteal, and pawn the plate?
'Twas WHISKEY ſnar'd his heart.
Turn now mine eye where Channel-row,
Diſplays yon manſion drear,
And aſk each pale and ſhiv'ring wretch,
What miſery drove him there.
O! woeful ſight, ſay what cou'd cauſe,
Such poverty and ſhame?
Hark! hear his words, he owns the cauſe—
It all from WHISKEY came.
And when the future Lot is fix'd,
Of darkneſs, fire and chains,
How can the Drunkard hope to 'ſcape
Thoſe everlaſting pains.
Since all his claim to heaven he ſells
And drink the beſtial cauſe,
Rejects the price his Saviour paid,
And diſobeys his laws,
For if the Murd'rer's doom'd to woe,
As holy writ declares,
The Drunkard with SELF Murderers
That dreadful Portion ſhares.
Z.
Appendix A
DUBLIN: SOLD BY WILLIAM WATSON, No. 7, CAPEL-STREET, PRINTER TO THE CHEAP REPOSITORY FOR RELIGIOUS AND MORAL TRACTS, And by the BOOKSELLERS, CHAPMEN and HAWKERS, in Town and Country.
PRICE ONE HALFPENNY.
Notes
*
The Philanthropic Society.
- Citation Suggestion for this Object
- TextGrid Repository (2020). TEI. 5423 The dram shop or a peep into a prison. University of Oxford Text Archive. . https://hdl.handle.net/21.T11991/0000-001A-59FF-2