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AT AN INN AT HENLEY.


To thee, fair Freedom, I retire
     From flattery, cards, and dice, and din;
Nor art thou found in mansions higher
     Than the low cot or humble inn.

'Tis here with boundless power I reign,
     And every health which I begin
Converts dull port to bright champagne:
     Such freedom crowns it at an inn.

I fly from pomp, I fly from plate,
     I fly from falsehood's specious grin;
Freedom I love and form I hate,
     And choose my lodgings at an inn.

Here, waiter! take my sordid ore,
     Which lackeys else might hope to win;
It buys what courts have not in store,
     It buys me freedom at an inn.

Whoe'er has traveled life's dull round,
     Where'er his stages may have been,
May sigh to think he still has found
     The warmest welcome at an inn.

                    WILLIAM SHENSTONE



 
copyright, Kellscraft Studio, 1999
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