Episode 8 - On Cider

I’ve now been in Cambridge for two whole days, and despite what the title of this post might suggest, I have not spent the entire time in the pub. In fact, most of my time has been spent in the Cambridge University Library, in the Manuscript Reading Room. Although the requirements for a Readers Ticket seems stringent (including an “academical letter of introduction”) and the lady in the admissions office seemed a little less than friendly when calling people in for their appointments, everyone at the library (at least, everyone I’ve encountered so far) has been extremely friendly. The Manuscript Reading Room is a little less than high tech (the collection is catalogued on handwritten cards, and there are descriptions of each item available in boxes of handwritten loose-leaf sheet of paper), but the people there were very helpful in getting me started.

Today, one of the items on Samuel Clarke that I was looking at (that didn’t turn out to be much use) was in a collection of papers from Clare Hall, including a bunch of poems (I think they were some kind of college exercises) on a variety of subjects from the Roman gods (Mars, Mercury, Bacchus etc.), to a toilet, and one I just had to copy down, on “Cyder.” You can find it below (I’ve modernised the spelling) along with a photo of the pint of Strongbow cider I’m currently enjoying, back at the Eagle – my favourite pub in the whole world!

CIDER

When we behold that lovely fruit, whose juice
Improved by art our Cider does produce;
Those beauteous Orchards please the wandering eye,
And with Hesperian Gardens well may vie:
Though the rich apples which were ripened there
Deserved a never-sleeping Dragon’s care;
Unguarded here fruit on each tree we meet
Fair to the eye, and to the taste most sweet.

No wonder then the Serpent did deceive
With such delightful Objects curious Eve;
For who such mighty pleasure could refuse,
‘Though he was sure even paradise to lose?

Why use we then such dangerous toil and pain,
Tempting the horrors of the raging Main,
‘Till some unwholesome wine at last we find,
When nature to our land hath been so kind?

With various flavours here we please our taste;
Cider the nicest palate has disgraced:
The Gauls deluded oft have tried in vain
This to distinguish from their own Champagne:
This land a richer fruit afford; whose juice
Resembles that which Spanish grapes produce:
And here the Germans taste that generous wine,
Which brings such glory to the fertile Rhine.

The wearying Farmer at approach of night
Returns from all his labours with delight;
With cheerful Cider soon refreshed and Gay,
Forgets the toils and troubles of the Day:
Whilst sitting careless in some shady place,
Content and joy is seen in every Face.

See how the sparkling liquor upward flies,
As if desirous to attract the skies
Or as with eager haste it wished to impart
Its native briskness to make glad the heart.
See how it smiles transparent through the glass;
And no foul stain its brightness does deface:
As when a noonday sun its watery beams
Darts through a cloud, his paler face then seems
Like Gold some artist for his use refines;
With such rich beauty the proud liquor shines.

Unguarded here we can indulge our mirth;
No sad distemper hence receives its birth:
This cooling liquor Feverish heats restrains,
And with soft slumbers sooths our midnight pains.

We here no dangerous Secrets ever disclose;
Nor hence the direful Centaurs tale arose;
With wine and raging lust inflamed they fought,
And on their guilty heads just vengeance brought.

Ye heavenly powers that guard these British Isles,
From social cups remove all evil broils;
Let no intemperance our health destroy,
While we our native liquor still enjoy;
To increase our wealth let every Briton join,
And Cider then shall triumph over Wine.