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A region of repose it seems,
A place of slumber and of dreams.
A region of repose it seems,
A place of slumber and of dreams.
Souls of poets dead and gone,
What Elysium have ye known,
Happy field or mossy cavern,
read more
Souls of poets dead and gone,
What Elysium have ye known,
Happy field or mossy cavern,
Choicer than the Mermaid Tavern?
He had scarcely gone a short league, when Fortune, that was
conducting his affairs from good to better, discovered read more
He had scarcely gone a short league, when Fortune, that was
conducting his affairs from good to better, discovered to him the
road, where he also espied an Inn. Sancho positively maintained
it was an Inn, and his master that it was a castle; and the
dispute lasted so long that they arrived there before it was
determined.
What care if the day
Be turned to gray,
What care if the night come soon!
read more
What care if the day
Be turned to gray,
What care if the night come soon!
We may choose the pace
Who bow for grace,
At the Inn of the Silver Moon.
The west yet glimmers with some streaks of day.
Now spurs the lated traveller apace
To gain read more
The west yet glimmers with some streaks of day.
Now spurs the lated traveller apace
To gain the timely inn, and near approaches
The subject of our watch.
Shall I not take mine ease in mine inn but I shall have my pocket
picked?
Shall I not take mine ease in mine inn but I shall have my pocket
picked?
Now musing o'er the changing scene
Farmers behind the tavern screen
Collect; with elbows idly press'd
read more
Now musing o'er the changing scene
Farmers behind the tavern screen
Collect; with elbows idly press'd
On hob, reclines the corner's guest,
Reading the news to mark again
The bankrupt lists or price of grain.
Puffing the while his red-tipt pipe
He dreams o'er troubles nearly ripe,
Yet, winter's leisure to regale,
Hopes better times, and sips his ale.
The atmosphere
Breathes rest and comfort and the many chambers
Seem full of welcomes.
The atmosphere
Breathes rest and comfort and the many chambers
Seem full of welcomes.
There is nothing which has yet been contrived by man, by which so
much happiness is produced as by read more
There is nothing which has yet been contrived by man, by which so
much happiness is produced as by a good tavern of inn.
