Classic Poem

There's all sorts of fowl and fish,
With wine and store of brandy,
Ye have there what your hearts can wish,
The hills are sugar candy.

There is a ship we understand
Now riding in the river,
'Tis newly come from Lubberland,
The like I think was never;
You that a lazy life do love,
I'd have you now go over,
They say land is not above
Two thousand leagues from Dover.

The Captain and the Master too
Do's give us this relation,
And so do's all the whole ship's crew,
Concerning this strange nation.
The streets are pav'd with pudding-pies,
Nay powder's beef and bacon,
They say they scorn to tell you lies,
Who think it is mistaken.

The king of knaves and queen of sluts
Reign there in peace and quiet;
You need not fear to starve your guts,
There is such store of diet:
There you may live free from all care,
Like hogs set up a fatning,
The garments which the people wear
Is silver, silk and sattin.

The lofty buildings of this place
For many years have lasted,
With nutmegs, pepper, cloves and mace
The walls are roughly casted,
In curious hasty-pudding boil'd,
And most ingenious carving.
Likewise they are with pancakes ty'd,
Sure, here's no fear of starving.

The Captain says, in every town
Hot roasted pigs will meet ye,
They in the streets run up and down,
Still crying out, come eat me:
Likewise he says, at every feast
The very fowls and fishes,
Nay, from the biggest to the least,
Comes tumbling to the dishes.

The rivers run with claret fine,
The brooks with rich Canary,
The ponds with other sorts of wine,
To make your hearts full merry:
Nay, more than this, you may behold
The fountains flow with brandy,
The rocks are like refined gold,
The hills are sugar candy.

Rosewater is the rain they have
Which comes in pleasant showers,
All places are adorned brave
With sweet and fragrant flowers;
Hot custards grow on ev'ry tree,
Each ditch affords rich jellies.
Now, if you will be rul'd by me,
Go there, and fill your bellies.

There's nothing there but holy-days,
With musick out of measure;
Who can forbear to speak the praise
Of such a land of pleasure?
There you may lead a lazy life,
Free from all kinds of labour,
And he that is without a wife,
May borrow of his neighbour.

There is no law, nor lawyers fees,
All men are free from fury,
For ev'ry one do's what he please,
Without a judge or jury:
The summer-time is warm they say,
The winter's ne'er the colder,
They have no landlord's rent to pay,
Each man is a free-holder.

You that are free to cross the seas,
Make no more disputation,
At Lubberland you'll live at ease,
With pleasant recreation:
The captain waits but for a gale,
Of prosperous wind and weather,
And that they soon will hoist up sail,
Make haste away together.