Classic Poem

Ale they drink in Giggleswick, The
They brew in Biggleswade;
In Chirk and Bilbster, so they say,
Their scores are never paid;
In Bugsworth and Fazakerley
Their snouts are red and blue,
But the very best tipple of all, I ween,
Is the beer at Luton Hoo!

A man may swig at Timperley,
And fill his paunch at Diss,
In Bootle and Balquhidder too
A cask is not amiss.
At Cleobury Mortimer—

I've never been to Wookey,
That lies beyond the West;
In Spofforth, or in Widnes,
A wounded heart may rest;
But in Yealmpton, ah! in Yealmpton,
There peace with love doth blend,
And evening comes with healing
To Brigg and Ponder's End.