All About Coffee, William H. Ukers [short story to read .txt] 📗

THE DERIVATION OF
A COFFEE-HOUSE

A Coffee-house, the learned hold
It is a place where Coffee's sold;
This derivation cannot fail us,
For where Ale's vended, that's an Ale-house.

This being granted to be true,
'Tis meet that next the Signs we shew
Both where and how to find this house
Where men such cordial broth carowse.
And if Culpepper woon some glory
In turning the Dispensatory
From Latin into English; then
Why should not all good English men
Give him much thanks who shews a cure
For all diseases men endure?

SIGNS: HOW TO
FIND IT OUT

As you along the streets do trudge,
To take the pains you must not grudge,
To view the Posts or Broomsticks where
The Signs of Liquors hanged are.
And if you see the great Morat
With Shash on's head instead of hat,
Or any Sultan in his dress,
Or picture of a Sultaness,
Or John's admir'd curled pate,
Or th' great Mogul in's Chair of State,
Or Constantine the Grecian,
Who fourteen years was th' onely man
That made Coffee for th' great Bashaw,
Although the man he never saw;
Or if you see a Coffee-cup
Fil'd from a Turkish pot, hung up
Within the clouds, and round it Pipes,
Wax Candles, Stoppers, these are types
And certain signs (with many more
Would be too long to write them 'ore,)
Which plainly do Spectators tell
That in that house they Coffee sell.
Some wiser than the rest (no doubt,)
Say they can by the smell find't out;
In at a door (say they,) but thrust
Your Nose, and if you scent burnt Crust,
Be sure there's Coffee sold that's good,
For so by most 'tis understood.

Now being enter'd, there's no needing
Of complements or gentile breeding,
For you may seat you any where,
There's no respect of persons there;
Then comes the Coffee-man to greet you,
With welcome Sir, let me entreat you,
To tell me what you'l please to have,
For I'm your humble, humble slave;
But if you ask, what good does Coffee?
He'l answer, Sir, don't think I scoff yee,
If I affirm there's no disease
Men have that drink it but find ease.

THE VERTUES
OF COFFEE

Look, there's a man who takes the steem
In at his Nose, has an extreme
Worm in his pate, and giddiness,
Ask him and he will say no less.
There sitteth one whose Droptick belly
Was hard as flint, now's soft as jelly.
There stands another holds his head
'Ore th' Coffee-pot, was almost dead
Even now with Rhume; ask him hee'l say
That all his Rhum's now past away.
See, there's a man sits now demure
And sober, was within this hour
Quite drunk, and comes here frequently,
For 'tis his daily Malady,
More, it has such reviving power
'Twill keep a man awake an houre,
Nay, make his eyes wide open stare
Both Sermon time and all the prayer.
Sir, should I tell you all the rest
O' th' cures 't has done, two hours at least
In numb'ring them I needs must spend,
Scarce able then to make an end.
Besides these vertues that's therein.
For any kind of Medicine,
The Commonwealth-Kingdom I'd say,
Has mighty reason for to pray
That still Arabia may produce
Enough of Berry for it's use:
For't has such strange magnetick force,
That it draws after't great concourse
Of all degrees of persons, even
From high to low, from morn till even;
Especially the sober Party,
And News-mongers do drink't most hearty
Here you'r not thrust into a Box
As Taverns do to catch the Fox,
But as from th' top of Pauls high steeple,
Th' whole City's view'd, even so all people
May here be seen; no secrets are
At th' Court for Peace, or th' Camp for War,
But straight they'r here disclos'd and known;
Men in this Age so wise are grown.
Now (Sir) what profit may accrew
By this, to all good men, judge you.
With that he's loudly call'd upon
For Coffee, and then whip he's gone.

THE COMPANY

Here at a Table sits (perplext)
A griping Usurer, and next
To him a gallant Furioso,
Then nigh to him a Virtuoso;
A Player then (full fine) sits down,
And close to him a Country Clown.
O' th' other side sits some Pragmatick,
And next to him some sly Phanatick.

THE SEVERAL
LIQUORS

The gallant he for Tea doth call,
The Usurer for nought at all.
The Pragmatick he doth intreat
That they will fill him some Beau-cheat,
The Virtuoso he cries hand me
Some Coffee mixt with Sugar-candy.
Phanaticus (at last) says come,
Bring me some Aromaticum.
The Player bawls for Chocolate,
All which the Bumpkin wond'ring at,
Cries, ho, my Masters, what d' ye speak,
D' ye call for drink in Heathen Greek?
Give me some good old Ale or Beer,
Or else I will not drink, I swear.
Then having charg'd their Pipes around.

THEIR DISCOURSE

They silence break; First the profound
And sage Phanatique, Sirs what news?
Troth says the Us'rer I ne'r use
To tip my tongue with such discourse,
'Twere news to know how to disburse
A summ of mony (makes me sad)
To get ought by't, times are so bad.
The other answers, truly Sir
You speak but truth, for I'le aver
They ne'r were worse; did you not hear
What prodigies did late appear
At Norwich, Ipswich, Grantham, Gotam?
And though prophane ones do not not'em,
Yet we—Here th' Virtuoso stops
The current of his speech, with hopes
Quoth he, you will not tak'd amiss,
I say all's lies that's news like this,
For I have Factors all about
The Realm, so that no Stars peep out
That are unusual, much less these
Strange and unheard-of prodigies
You would relate, but they are tost
To me in letters by first Post.
At which the Furioso swears
Such chat as this offends his ears
It rather doth become this Age
To talk of bloodshed, fury, rage,
And t' drink stout healths in brim-fill'd Nogans.
To th' downfall of the Hogan Mogans.
With that the Player doffs his Bonnet,
And tunes his voice as if a Sonnet
Were to be sung; then gently says,
O what delight there is in Plays!
Sure if we were but all in Peace,
This noise of Wars and News would cease;
All sorts of people then would club
Their pence to see a Play that's good.
You'l wonder all this while (perhaps)
The Curioso holds his chaps.
But he doth in his thoughts devise,
How to the rest he may seem wise;
Yet able longer not to hold,
His tedious tale too must be told,
And thus begins, Sirs unto me
It reason seems that liberty
Of speech and words should be allow'd
Where men of differing judgements croud,
And that's a Coffee-house, for where
Should men discourse so free as there?
Coffee and Commonwealth begin
Both with one letter, both came in
Together for a Reformation,
To make's a free and sober Nation.
But now—With that Phanaticus
Gives him a nod, and speaks him thus,
Hold brother, I know your intent,
That's no dispute convenient
For this same place, truths seldome find
Acceptance here, they'r more confin'd
To Taverns and to Ale-house liquor,
Where men do vent their minds more quicker
If that may for a truth but pass
What's said, In vino veritas.
With that up starts the Country Clown,
And stares about with threatening frown.
As if he would even eat them all up.
Then bids the boy run quick and call up,
A Constable, for he has reason
To fear their Latin may be treason
But straight they all call what's to pay,
Lay't down, and march each several way.

THE COMPANY

At th' other table sits a Knight,
And here a grave old man ore right
Against his worship, then perhaps
That by and by a Drawer claps
His bum close by them, there down squats
A dealer in old shoes and hats;
And here withouten any panick
Fear, dread or care a bold Mechanick.

HEIR DISCOURSE

The Knight (because he's so) he prates
Of matters far beyond their pates.
The grave old man he makes a bustle,
And his wise sentence in must justle.
Up starts th' Apprentice boy and he
Says boldly so and so't must be.
The dealer in old shoes to utter
His saying too makes no small sputter.
Then comes the pert mechanick blade,
And contradicts what all have said.

***

There by the fier-side doth sit,
One freezing in an Ague fit.
Another poking in't with th' tongs,
Still ready to cough up his lungs
Here sitteth one that's melancolick,
And there one singing in a frolick.
Each one hath such a prety gesture,
At Smithfield fair would yield a tester.
Boy reach a pipe cries he that shakes,
The songster no Tobacco takes,
Says he who coughs, nor do I smoak,
Then Monsieur Mopus turns his cloak
Off from his face, and with a grave
Majestick beck his pipe doth crave.
They load their guns and fall a smoaking
Whilst he who coughs sits by a choaking,
Till he no longer can abide.
And so removes from th' fier side.
Now all this while none calls to drink,
Which makes the Coffee boy to think
Much they his pots should so enclose,
He cannot pass but tread on toes.
With that as he the Nectar fills
From pot to pot, some on't he spills
Upon the Songster. Oh cries he.
Pox, what dost do? thou'st burnt my knee;
No says the boy, (to make a bald
And blind excuse.) Sir 'twill not scald.
With that the man lends him a cuff
O' th' ear, and whips away in snuff.
The other two, their pipes being out,
Says Monsieur Mopus I much doubt
My friend I wait for will not come,
But if he do, say I'm gone home.
Then says the Aguish man I must come
According to my wonted custome,
To give ye' a visit, although now
I dare not