Page:Two Mock Epics (Hanuman and Tantum Religio), Lyrics, Post Meridian Verse, The Turret Captain's Toast and other Verses.pdf/122

 It needed just that other strand of

Coincidence—a vintage season

Unrivalled in the fabled land of

Brigands and knives and popish treason

And Policastrian pirates coasting—

To save Sir Blasio from his roasting.

In fact, o’er far Calabria’s hovels,

Where pigs and Christians share the bowl

And priests parade with coal-black shovels

On inch-thick skulls, and bless the whole;

Where blear-eyed brats o’er muck heaps clamber,

And sows lie farrowing in the chamber,

Had burst a perfect vinous deluge

And turned the vats and casks to sluices,

In fact, in all the land no well huge

Enough to hold the surplus juices

Was found, they rushed down oyer-brimming

Troughs—dykes—the very fields were swimming.

The folk there with that want of sense,

Which is the note of priest-rid regions,

Had never had the providence

To cooper casks for these occasions,

So that a vintage to excess in

These lands was more a curse than blessing.

The roads were bad, the means of transit

Far worse, and buyers next to nil,

Folk could not all the autumn dance it

And drink—the very pigs took ill:

Excess of good cheer turned to loathing

And then the wine went off for nothing.