THE CUMBERLAND LANDLORD.
(To the Editor of the Mirror.)
During a recent excursion in Cumberland, I copied the following epitaph from the album kept at the inn at Pooley Bridge, the landlord of which is well known, as being quite an original:—W.W.
Will Russell was a landlord bold,
A noble wight was he,
Right fond of quips and merry cracks,
And ev'ry kind of glee.
Full five-and-twenty years agone
He came to Pooley Height,
And there he kept the Rising Sun,
And drunk was ev'ry night.
No lord, nor squire, nor serving man,
In all the country round,
But lov'd to call in at the Sun,
Wherever he was bound,
To hold a crack with noble Will,
And take a cheerful cup
Of brandy, or of Penrith ale,
Or pop, right bouncing up.
But now poor Will lies sleeping here,
Without his hat or stick,
Nor longer rules the Rising Sun,
As he did well when wick. [2]
Will's honest heart could ne'er refuse
To drink with ev'ry brother;
Then let us not his name abuse—
We'll ne'er see sic another.
But let us hope the gods above,
Right mindful of his merits,
Have given him a gentle shove
Into the land of spirits.
'Tis then his talents will expand,
And make a noble figure.
In tossing off a brimming glass,
To make his belly bigger.
Adieu, brave landlord, may thy portly ghost
Be ever ready at its heavenly post;
And may thy proud posterity e'er be
Landlords at Pooley to eternity.