The old Globe Tavern in Fleet Street survived down to about the beginning of the present century. It was the favourite resort of Oliver Goldsmith, who took great delight in hearing a certain “tun of a man,” who frequented the house, sing the song entitled _Nottingham Ale_, in which Bacchus himself is said to have sprung from a barrel of that famous liquor:— { 211}
Fair Venus, the Goddess of beauty and love, Arose from the froth that swam on the sea, Minerva leap’d out of the cranium of Jove, A coy sullen slut, as most authors agree; Bold Bacchus they tell us, the prince of good fellows, Was his natural son, but attend to my tale, For they that thus chatter mistake quite the matter, He sprang from a barrel of Nottingham Ale, Nottingham Ale, boys; Nottingham Ale; no liquor on earth is like Nottingham Ale.
This song was a great favourite in the eighteenth century, and was sung to the tune of “Lilabolero.”
The Crown and Anchor in the Strand was one of the most famous houses in London during the first part of the present century. A tragic story is related of how one Thomas Simpkin, the first landlord after the rebuilding of the house in 1790, on the occasion of an inaugural dinner, in leaning over a balcony to look into the street, broke the balustrade and, falling to the ground, was killed on the spot. Here were held the famous Westminster political meetings, and here the birthday of Fox was celebrated in 1794, when two thousand persons sat down to dinner. Many another tavern in this region so famous for houses of entertainment, brings back memories of the past, but space forbids us to linger over the recital.
John Taylor, the Water Poet (poeta Aquaticus, as he was fond of calling himself), who was the author of many whimsical works in prose as well as verse, was a Thames waterman, and the keeper of an alehouse in Phœnix Alley, Long Acre. It is related of him that on the death of Charles I. he changed his sign, which had formerly been the Crown, into the Mourning Bush, as expressing his grief and loyalty. He was, however, soon compelled to take this sign down, and he then substituted the Poet’s Head, his own portrait, with this inscription:—
There is many a head hangs for a sign; Then, gentle reader, why not mine?