Poem 36:
THE LITTLE VAGABOND
THE LITTLE VAGABOND
| Dear mother, dear mother, the Church is cold; |
| But the Alehouse is healthy, and pleasant, and warm. |
| Besides, I can tell where I am used well; |
| Such usage in heaven will never do well. |
| But, if at the Church they would give us some ale, |
| And a pleasant fire our souls to regale, |
| We'd sing and we'd pray all the livelong day, |
| Nor ever once wish from the Church to stray. |
| Then the Parson might preach, and drink, and sing, |
| And we'd be as happy as birds in the spring; |
| And modest Dame Lurch, who is always at church, |
| Would not have bandy children, nor fasting, nor birch. |
| And God, like a father, rejoicing to see |
| His children as pleasant and happy as He, |
| Would have no more quarrel with the Devil or the barrel, |
| But kiss him, and give him both drink and apparel. |
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