1787, at the Clevey's yard Gravesend. The ship was 1152 tons and had a crew of 144 and was one of the largest and fastest ever built. Fair Venus, the goddess of beauty and love Arose from the froth which swam on the sea Minerva leapt out of the cranium of Jove A coy, sullen slut, as most authors agree Bold Bacchus, they tell us, the prince of good fellas Was a natural son, pray attend to my tale And they that thus chatter, mistake quite the matter He sprung from a barrel of Nottingham Ale! Nottingham Ale, boys, Nottingham Ale No liquor on earth is like Nottingham Ale! Nottingham Ale, boys, Nottingham Ale No liquor on earth like Nottingham Ale! And having survey'd well the cask whence he sprung For want of more liquor, low spirited grew He mounted astride to the jolly cask clung And away to the gods and the goddess flew But when he look'd down and saw the fair town To pay it due honours, not likely to fail He swore that on earth 'twas the town of his birth And the best – and no liquor like Nottingham ale Ye bishops and deacons, priests, curates and vicars When once you have tasted, you'll own it is true That Nottingham Ale, it's the best of all liquors And who understands the good creature like you It expels every vapour, saves pen, ink and paper And when you're disposed from the pulpit to rail T'will open your throats, you may preach without notes When inspired with a bumper of Nottingham Ale Ye doctors who more execution have done With powder and bolus, with potion and pill Than hangman with halter, or soldier with gun Than miser with famine, a lawyer with quill To dispatch us the quicker, you forbid us malt liquor Till our bodies consume and our faces grow pale But mind it what pleases and cures all diseases Is a comfortable dose of good Nottingham Ale Ye poets, who brag of the Helicon brook The nectar of gods, and the juice of the vine You say none can write well, except they invoke The friendly assistance of one of the nine Hers liquor surpasses the stream of Parnassus The nectar Ambrosia, on which gods regale Experience will show it, nought makes a good poet Like quantum sufficit of Nottingham ale Overtures from Richmond Yet