They sell good beer at Haslemere And under Guildford Hill; At little Cowfold, as I've been told, A beggar may drink his fill. There is a good brew in Amberley too, And by the Bridge also; But the swipes they take in at the Washington Inn Is the very best beer I know. With my here it goes, there it goes, All the fun's before us. The door's ajar and the barrel is sprung, The tipple's aboard and the night is young; I am singing the best song ever was sung, And it has a rousing chorus. If I was what I never can be, The Master or the Squire; If you gave me the rape from here to the sea Which is more than I desire: Then all my crops should be barley and hops, And did my harvest fail, I'd sell every rood of my acres, I would, For a bellyful of good ale. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SORROWING LOVE by KATHERINE MANSFIELD AT THE MERMAID TAVERN (APRIL 10, 1613) by EDGAR LEE MASTERS THE SONG MAKER by SARA TEASDALE TO A SOLITARY DISCIPLE by WILLIAM CARLOS WILLIAMS THE PHANTOM-LOVER [OR, WOOER] by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES |