Written at an Inn
1714 - 1763
( Note: Word spelling is from the 18th
century. Health refers to toast.)
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 champain;
Such Freedom crowns it, at an inn.
I fly from pomp, I fly from plate,
I fly from Falshood's specious grin;
Freedom I Love, and form I hate,
And chuse my lodgings at an inn.
Here, waiter ! Take my sordid ore,
Which lacqueys else might hope to win;
It buys what courts have not in store,
It buys me Freedom, at an inn.
Whoe'er has travell'd 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.