Skip to main content

Coffee—A Stinking, Nauseous Puddle-Water

I have been searching for quotes related to coffee for a story I have floating around in my head. I found the usual quotes that appear in gift books and painted on coffee-shop walls, but the best quotes I have found come from 1674—The Women's Petition Against Coffee. Here is what the disgruntled women said:

"Certainly our Countrymens pallates are become as Fantastical as their Brains; how ellse is't possible they should Apostatize from the good old primitve way of Ale-drinking, to run a whoring after such variety of distructive Foreign Liquors, to trifle away their time, scald their Chops, and spend their Money, all for a little base, black, thick, nasty, bitter, stinking, nauseous Puddle-water: Yet (as all Witches have their CHarms) so this ugly Turskish Enchantress by certain Invisible VVyres attracts both Rich and Poor; so that those that have scarece Twopence to buy their Children Bread, must spend a penny each evening in this Insipid Stuff: Nor can we send one of our Husbands to Call a Midwife, or borrow a Glister-pipe, but he must stay an hour by the way drinking his two Dishes, & two Pipes."

The women of England did not approve of the male-only coffee houses and the dire effect they had on their men. They suggested "Lusty nappy Beer, Cock-Ale, Cordial Canaries, Restoring Malago's, and Back-recruiting Chochole be Recommended to General Use, throughout the Utopian Territories" instead.

The men would not sit still for all of this complaining and had this to say in response:

"You may well permit us to talk abroad, for at home we have scarce time to utter a word for the insufferable Din of your ever active Tongues, the Foolish extravagancies of our lives, are infinitly out-done by the wild Frolliques of yours; 'Till Noon you lie a Bed hatching Concupiscence, then having paid your Adorations, to the Ugly Idol in the Glass, you descend to Dinner were you gormondize enough at one Meal to Famish a Town Besiedg'd; after that, you are call'd out by a Cozen, and hurried out in his Honours Coach (whose jogging, serves as a Preparative to your Letchery) away to the Play-house, where a Lascivious Dance, a Bawdy Song, and the Petulant Gallants Tickling of your hand, having made an Insurrection in your Blood, you go to Allay it with an Evenings Exercise at the Tavern, there you spend freely, yet being Rob'd of nothing we can miss, home you come in a Railing humour, and at last give us nothing for Supper but a Butter'd Bun. Cease then for the Future your Clamours against
our civil Follies. Alas!"

Ugly idol in the glass indeed. It seems the battle of control between the sexes is age old.

Comments

Would you lie to meet me for coffee,Robyn? Maybe we could settle this once and for all, for the good of man AND woman kind.
Scout said…
No, I would not lie to meet you for coffee. Let's just settle this thing right here once and for all.
dive said…
The Women's Petition Against Coffee?
Woohoo, Robyn! You sure do manage to find 'em.

It's too late in the evening to brew up a Joe, so I'll console myself with a good old pint of Cock-Ale before hying away to the Playhouse to tickle a good lady's hand.

What an excellent post!
ooops excuse my typo I meant "like" not lie. Are you making fun of me?
MmeBenaut said…
I realise that I might be letting down the womanhood but I'm with Rich on this one. Absolutely LOVE coffee; will always pass up the ale!
Bravo for these gems, Robyn.

Popular posts from this blog

Happy Birthday...

to me! Update: Since you have asked, I only got one actual packaged gift, a beautiful hand-made bracelet from a friend, but both girls were home for the weekend, and we had dinner at the lake and a relaxing weekend. Thanks to all of you for your lovely wishes!

My Sitemeter is All Bloated and Not Quite Itself

I'm tempted to let it sit on the couch with its feet curled up under a blanket, a hot cup of coffee in hand, a block of cherry almond bark Chocolove within reach, and An Affair to Remember spinning in the DVD player. I'm one of those obsessive bloggers, the kind who checks her sitemeter as often as possible throughout the day, the kind who gauges the quality of her writing by the number of readers who regularly stop by. I've become less interested in the overall number of hits and more interested in the number of repeat hits. The return visitors are the ones I long for. When my sitemeter reads forty at the end of the day, and the majority of those hits are webpals who have conversed, I'm happy. Forty may seem low to many of you, but I've only been at this since August. To me, forty is a jackpot. A few days ago, I sat down at my laptop and discovered a number somewhere in the eighties. Eighties! Yippee! Yeeha ! Hoo-rah ! I've been discovered by the webworld , o...

Ish People

Tell an Ish person to show up around 9 a.m., and you'll see them somewhere around 9 a.m. Tell them to show up at 9ish, and you'll see them anywhere from 9:05 to 9:20. You have given them license to dilly dally, and who wouldn't take advantage of that? The other night at the big shindig dinner party, one of the drummers said the rehearsal the next morning would begin at 9ish. "I am an ish person," he says. Immediately the clanker goes off in my head--oh, good, I thought. I can deliver my daughter a little late. No Ish person is early, so if you say 9ish, that does not mean give or take 5, 10, 15 minutes. It's exclusively a taking phrase. Take an extra 10 minutes to drink your cup of coffee. We won't mind. We're Ish people. Sunday's rehearsal started at 2:00. Because it was conducted by the same people who conducted the Saturday rehearsal, my understanding was 2-ISH. My daughter is worse than I am about taking liberties with Ish time frames, so she d...