Now musing o'er the changing scene
Farmers behind the tavern screen
Collect; with elbows idly press'd
On hob, reclines the corner's guest,
Reading the news to mark again
The bankrupt lists or price of grain.
Puffing the while his red-tipt pipe
He dreams o'er troubles nearly ripe,
Yet, winter's leisure to regale,
Hopes better times, and sips his ale.
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The atmosphere
Breathes rest and comfort and the many chambers
Seem full of welcomes.
The atmosphere
Breathes rest and comfort and the many chambers
Seem full of welcomes.
The west yet glimmers with some streaks of day.
Now spurs the lated traveller apace
To gain read more
The west yet glimmers with some streaks of day.
Now spurs the lated traveller apace
To gain the timely inn, and near approaches
The subject of our watch.
Where'er his fancy bids him roam,
In ev'ry Inn he finds a home--
. . . .
read more
Where'er his fancy bids him roam,
In ev'ry Inn he finds a home--
. . . .
Will not an Inn his cares beguile,
Where on each face he sees a smile?
What care if the day
Be turned to gray,
What care if the night come soon!
read more
What care if the day
Be turned to gray,
What care if the night come soon!
We may choose the pace
Who bow for grace,
At the Inn of the Silver Moon.
Where you have friends you should not go to inns.
Where you have friends you should not go to inns.
Shall I not take mine ease in mine inn but I shall have my pocket
picked?
Shall I not take mine ease in mine inn but I shall have my pocket
picked?
In the worst inn's worst room, with mat half hung.
In the worst inn's worst room, with mat half hung.
There is nothing which has yet been contrived by man, by which so
much happiness is produced as by read more
There is nothing which has yet been contrived by man, by which so
much happiness is produced as by a good tavern of inn.
A region of repose it seems,
A place of slumber and of dreams.
A region of repose it seems,
A place of slumber and of dreams.
