PASTOR BRANDY WINE

O - Pastor Brandywine,
Is quite a modest man,
Therefore I sing a line,
To help him if I can.
In his good well known face;
Both grace and spirit shine.
And `moderation' claims a place
In Pastor Brandywine.

This Pastor in his church;
With `officers' at hand -
Can leave quiet `in the church',
The whole teetotal band.
He tries, with some `good works',
In `simple faith' to shine.
And hence we find to temperance `quirks',
In Pastor Brandywine.

This Pastor's helpers, all -
Love brandy, wine and beer.
And, not since Adams `fall',
Has such a set been here.
They take a `moderate drink' -
Then, earnestly, they pine,
To have all rush from ruin's brink,
With Pastor Brandywine.

Sometimes a cup of tea,
Enters the Pastor's lips,
But, ere he preaches, he
Prefers to have his `nips',
For vestry helpers got,
What is not yours, or mine -
Some spirits, either cold or hot,
For Pastor Brandywine.

This Pastor, spirit - primed,
Into the pulpit goes -
He never yet declined,
A `drop to warm his nose' -
Then, boldly speaking forth,
His words of truth-divine;
He proves to be a man of worth.
Does Pastor Brandywine.

This Pastor, with some force,
Denounces drunkenness,
And prays, till he is hoarse,
That sin may soon get less.
His warm `petitions', rise,
Upward! in Heaven's line -
But answers linger in the skies,
For Pastor Brandywine.

This Pastor, doth assure,
Teetotallers - in love -
That drunkard's `perfect cure',
Must drop `from above'.
He says - to quite `abstain',
Will not suit one in nine -
Then takes a `drop to clear his brain'.
Does Pastor Brandywine.

This Pastor, sometimes, talks,
A little, round about,
And now and then, he walks,
In more or less of doubt.
His breath, too, `tells a tale' -
But we must not malign,
A pious man who loves his ale,
Like Pastor Brandywine.

This Pastor gives a call,
On one of his white `flock' -
And hopes to make a haul,
From his fair friend's `choice stock',
He bids her to `look up'!
And smiles, and looks benign.
Then, she fills full the goblet cup,
For Pastor Brandywine

The Pastor's hearers dote,
On him, through fits and starts.
With wine they warm the throat;
With love he warms their hearts.
They all together try,
Around them to entwine,
And when he's `indisposed', they sigh,
For Pastor Brandywine.

This Pastor will not win,
On the teetotal question,
For `the Doctor' orders gin,
To cure his indigestion.
Then the Pastor, and the quack,
Do both set up a whine;
Ruin soon will sweep the track,
And end poor `Brandywine'.

George Burgess - March 1875