Recent correspondence in The Times suggests that the general public - at least the Times-reading part of it - does not know the word "toper".

One reader rightly points out that it appears in the Flanders and Swann song (not their swansong) "Have Some Madeira M'Dear". They aren't singing about cake, but about a dasardly cad who wishes to have his cake and eat it:

She was young, she was pure, she was new, she was nice,
She was fair, she was sweet seventeen.
He was old, he was vile and no stranger to vice,
He was base, he was bad, he was mean.
He had slyly enveigled her up to his flat
To view his collection of stamps
And he said as he hastened to put out the cat,
The wine, his cigar and the lamps:
"Have some Madeira, m'Dear!
You really have nothing to fear.
I'm not trying to tempt you, that wouldn't be right;
You shouldn't drink spirits at this time of night.
Have some Madeira, m'Dear!
It's so very much nicer than beer.
I don't care for sherry and cannot drink stout
And port is a wine I can well do without.
It's simply a case of "chacun a son gout."
Have some Madeira, m'Dear!"

Unaware of the wiles of the snake in the grass
And the fate of the maiden who topes,
She lowered her standards by raising her glass,
Her courage, her eyes and his hopes.
She sipped it, she drank it, she drained it, she did
And quietly he filled it again
And he said as he secretly carved one more notch
On the butt of his gold-handled cane.
"Have some Madeira, m'Dear!
I've got a small cask of it here
And once it's been opened, you know it won't keep
Do finish it up, it will help you to sleep.
Have some Madeira, m'Dear!
It's really an excellent year.
Now if it were gin, you'd be wrong to say yes,
The evil gin does would be hard to assess
(Besides it's inclined to affect my prowess)
Have some Madeira, m'Dear!"

Then there flashed though her mind what her mother had said
With her antepenultimate breath:
"Oh my child, should you look at the wine which is red
Be prepared for a fate worse than death!"
She let go her glass with a shrill little cry.
Crash! Tinkle! It fell to the floor.
When he asked "what in Heaven?" she made no reply,
Up her mind, and a dash for the door.
"Have some Madeira, m'Dear!"
Rang out down the hall, loud and clear,
A tremulous cry that was filled with despair
As she paused to take breath in the full midnight air.
"Have some Madeira, m'Dear!"
The words seemed to ring in her ear
Until the next morning, she woke up in bed
With a smile on her lips, an ache in her head
And a beard in her earhole that tickled and said:
"Have some Madeira, m'Dear!"

I don't remember when I first heard the word "tope". Or where. I don't remember the man. But the wine was ... I don't even remember the wine. But I remember the colour of the carpet.