He laughed to hear the bells that ring In Clermont Church and round of it; He heard the verger’s daughter sing, And loved her for the sound of it. The verger’s daughter said him nay; She had the right of choice in it. He left the town at break of day: He hadn’t had a voice in it. The road went up, the road went down, And there the matter ended it. He broke his heart in Clermont town, At Pontgibaud they mended it. DRINKING SONG ON THE EXCELLENCE OF BURGUNDY WINE My jolly fat host with your face all a-grin, Come, open the door to us, let us come in. A score of stout fellows who think it no sin If they toast till they’re hoarse, and they drink till they spin, Hoofed it amain, Rain or no rain, To crack your old jokes, and your bottles to drain. Such a warmth in the belly that nectar begets As soon as his guts with its humour he wets, The miser his gold, and the student his debts, And the beggar his rags and his hunger forgets. For there’s never a wine Like this tipple of thine From the great hill of Nuits to the River of Rhine. Outside you may hear the great gusts as they go By Foy, by Duerne, and the hills of Lerraulx, But the rain he may rain, and the wind he may blow, If the Devil’s above there’s good liquor below. So it abound, Pass it around, Burgundy’s Burgundy all the year round. DRINKING DIRGE A thousand years ago I used to dine In houses where they gave me such regale Of dear companionship and comrades fine That out I went alone beyond the pale; And riding, laughed and dared the skies malign To show me all the undiscovered tale-- But my philosophy’s no more divine, I put my pleasure in a pint of ale. And you, my friends, oh! pleasant friends of mine, Who leave me now alone, without avail, On Californian hills you gave me wine, You gave me cider-drink in Longuevaille; If after many years you come to pine For comradeship that is an ancient tale-- You’ll find me drinking beer in Dead Man’s Chine. I put my pleasure in a pint of ale. In many a briny boat I’ve tried the brine, From many a hidden harbour I’ve set sail, Steering towards the sunset where there shine The distant amethystine islands pale. There are no ports beyond the far sea-line, Nor any halloa to meet the mariner’s hail; I stand at home and slip the anchor-line. I put my pleasure in a pint of ale. ENVOI Prince! Is it true when you go out to dine You bring your bottle in a freezing pail? Why then you cannot be a friend of mine. _I_ put my pleasure in a pint of ale. WEST SUSSEX DRINKING SONG