Friar’s Song



Some love the matin-chimes, which tell
The hour of prayer to sinner:
But better far's the mid-day bell,
Which speaks the hour of dinner;
For when I see a smoking fish,
Or capon drown'd in gravy,
Or noble haunch on silver dish,
Full glad I sing my ave.

My pulpit is an alehouse bench,
Whereon I sit so jolly;
A smiling rosy country wench
My saint and patron holy.
I kiss her cheek so red and sleek,
I press her ringlets wavy,
And in her willing ear I speak
A most religious ave.

And if I'm blind, yet heaven is kind,
And holy saints forgiving;
For sure he leads a right good life
Who thus admires good living.
Above, they say, our flesh is air,
Our blood celestial ichor:
Oh, grant! mid all the changes there,
They may not change our liquor!

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Submitted on May 13, 2011

Modified on March 05, 2023

44 sec read
52

Quick analysis:

Scheme ABABCDCE XDCDFDFE XGXGHBHB
Closest metre Iambic tetrameter
Characters 725
Words 144
Stanzas 3
Stanza Lengths 8, 8, 8

William Makepeace Thackeray

William Makepeace Thackeray was an English novelist of the 19th century. more…

All William Makepeace Thackeray poems | William Makepeace Thackeray Books

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