Laudator Temporis Acti

There seem to be several versions extant of The Toper's Apology by Charles Morris (1745-1838). The following is from Lyra Urbanica; or, The Social Effusions of the Celebrated Captain Charles Morris of the Late Life-Guards, vol. I (London: Richard Bentley, 1840), pp. 73-76:

I'm often ask'd by plodding souls,
  And men of crafty tongue,
What joy I take in draining bowls
  And tippling all night long.
Now, though these cautious knaves I scorn,
  For once I'll not disdain
To tell them why I sit till morn,
  And fill my glass again;

'Tis by the glow my bumper gives,
  Life's picture's mellow made;
The fading light then brightly lives,
  And softly sinks the shade.
Some happier tint still rises there,
  With every drop I drain—
And that I think's a reason fair
  To fill my glass again.

My Muse, too, when her wings are dry
  No frolic flight will take;
But round a bowl she'll dip and fly,
  Like swallows round a lake.
Then, if the nymph will have her share
  Before she'll bless her swain—
Why that I think's a reason fair
  To fill my glass again.

In life I've rung all changes too,
  Run every pleasure down,
Tried each extreme of Fancy through,
  And lived with half the town;
For me there's nothing new or rare
  Till wine deceives my brain—
And that I think's a reason fair
  To fill my glass again.

Then, many a lad I liked is dead,
  And many a lass grown old;
And as the lesson strikes my head,
  My weary heart grows cold.
But wine, awhile, drives off despair,
  Nay, bids a hope remain—
And that I think's a reason fair
  To fill my glass again.

Then, hipp'd and vex'd at England's state
  In these convulsive days,
I can't endure the ruin'd fate,
  My sober eye surveys.
But 'midst the bottle's dazzling glare,
  I see the gloom less plain—
And that I think's a reason fair
  To fill my glass again.

I find, too, when I stint my glass,
  And sit with sober air,
I'm prosed by some dull reasoning ass,
  Who treads the path of care;
Or, harder tax'd, I'm forced to bear
Some coxcomb's fribbling strain—
And that I think's a reason fair
  To fill my glass again.

Nay, don't we see Love's fetters, too,
  With different holds entwine?
While nought but death can some undo,
  There's some give way to wine.
With me the lighter head I wear
  The lighter hangs the chain—
And that I think's a reason fair
  To fill my glass again.

And now I'll tell, to end my song,
  At what I most repine:
This cursed war, or right or wrong,
  Is war against all wine;
Nay, Port, they say, will soon be rare
  As juice of France or Spain—
And that I think's a reason fair
  To fill my glass again.

To my ear, the fifth stanza has the ring of one of A.E. Housman's lyrics. There is a clever translation of The Toper's Apology by R.Y. Tyrrell "into a Greek song in the metre of the famous scolion about Harmodius and Aristogiton" in The Classical Review 7 (1893) 368-369.

Lyra Urbanica contains many delightful verses in the Anacreontic vein, and I may post more of them in future. According to a disapproving notice by S. Austin Allibone in A Critical Dictionary of English Literature and British and American Authors Living and Deceased, Vol. II (Philadelphia: J.B. Lippincott Company, 1891), p. 1321, Captain Charles Morris

served in the British army during the American Revolution, in the 17th Regiment of Foot; on his return to England he exchanged to a dragoon-regiment, and subsequently entered the Life-Guards. He married the widow of Sir William Stanhope. He was a great favourite in fashionable society, for the amusement of which he wrote many bacchanalian songs and uttered many witty sayings.

Morris is such a minor figure that he doesn't even merit an entry in Margaret Drabble, The Oxford Companion to English Literature, 5th ed. (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1985). But his graceful verses are pleasing, and he deserves to be rescued from oblivion.

Captain Charles Morris
Related posts:

• A Fig for Chink
  
• Drinking Songs
  
• Saturday Salmagundi

Labels: nunc est bibendum