<h3><SPAN name="36">THE LITTLE VAGABOND</SPAN></h3>
Dear mother, dear mother, the Church is cold;<br/>
But the Alehouse is healthy, and pleasant, and warm.<br/>
Besides, I can tell where I am used well;<br/>
Such usage in heaven will never do well.
<br/><br/>But, if at the Church they would give us some ale,<br/>
And a pleasant fire our souls to regale,<br/>
We’d sing and we’d pray all the livelong day,<br/>
Nor ever once wish from the Church to stray.
<br/><br/>Then the Parson might preach, and drink, and sing,<br/>
And we’d be as happy as birds in the spring;<br/>
And modest Dame Lurch, who is always at church,<br/>
Would not have bandy children, nor fasting, nor birch.
<br/><br/>And God, like a father, rejoicing to see<br/>
His children as pleasant and happy as He,<br/>
Would have no more quarrel with the Devil or the barrel,<br/>
But kiss him, and give him both drink and apparel.
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