Inscribed To An Alderman Poem by Anonymous British

Know ye the land where the leaf of the myrtle
Is bestow'd on good livers in eating sublime?
Where the rage for fat ven'son, and love of the turtle,
Preside o'er the realms of an Epicure clime?
Know ye the land where the juice of the vine,
Makes Aldermen learned, and Bishops divine?
Where each Corporation, deep flushd with its bloom,
Waxes fat o'er the eyes of the claret's perfume?
Thick spread is the table with choicest of fruit,
And the voice of the reveller never is mute:
Their rich robes, though varied, in beauty may vie,
Yet the purple of Bacchus is deepest in dye:-
'Tis the clime of the East - the return of the sun
Looks down on the deeds which his children have done:
Then wild is the note, and discordant the yell,
When, reeling and staggering, they hiccup - Farewell.