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;
The poor parsons with wind like a blown bladder
swell.
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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