Classic Poem

Though it may seem rude
For me to intrude,
With these my bears, by chance-a;
'Twere sport for a king,
If they could sing
As well as they can dance-a.

Then to put you out
Of fear or doubt,
We came from St Katherine-a;
These dancing three,
By the help of me,
Who am the post of the sign-a.

We sell good ware,
And we need not care
Though court and country knew it;
Our ale's of the best,
And each good guest
Prays for the soul that brew it.

For any ale-house,
We care not a louse,
Nor tavern in all the town-a;
Nor the Vintry Cranes,
Nor St Clement Danes,
Nor the Devil can put us down-a.

Who has once there been,
Comes hither again,
The liquor is so mighty;
Beer strong and stale,
And so is our ale,
And it burns like aqua-vitae.

To a stranger there,
If any appear,
Where never before he has been:
We show the iron gate,
The wheel of St Kate,
And the place where the priest fell in.

The wives of Wapping,
They trudge to our tapping,
And there our ale desire:
And they sit and drink,
Till they spew and stink,
And often piss out our fire.

From morning to night,
And about to daylight,
They sit, and never grudge it;
Till the fishwives join
Their single coin,
And the tinker pawns his budget.

If their brains be not well,
Or their bladders do swell,
To ease them of their burden,
My lady will come
With a bowl and a broom,
And her handmaid with a jordan.

From court we invite
Lord, lady, and knight,
Squire, gentleman, yeoman, and groom;
And all our stiff drinkers,
Smiths, porters, and tinkers,
And the beggars shall give ye room.
(from The Masque of Augurs)