The Mermaid Inn
Buzzed like a hornet's nest, upon the day
Fixed for their mutilation. And the stings
Were ready, too; for rapiers flashed and clashed
Among the tankards. Dekker was there, and Nash,
Brome (Jonson's body-servant, whom he taught
His art of verse and, more than that, to love him,)
And half a dozen more. They planned to meet
The prisoners going to Tyburn, and attempt
A desperate rescue.
All at once we heard
A great gay song come marching down the street,
A single voice, and twenty marching men,
Then the full chorus, twenty voices strong:—
The prentice whistles at break of day
All under fair roofs and towers,
When the old Cheape openeth every way
Her little sweet inns like flowers;
And he sings like a lark, both early and late,
To think, if his house take fire,
At the good Green Dragon in Bishopsgate
He may drink to his heart's desire.
Chorus: Or sit at his ease in the old Cross Keys
And drink to his heart's desire.
But I, as I walk by Red Rose Lane,
Tho' it warmeth my heart to see
The Swan, The Golden Hynde, and The Crane,
With the door set wide for me;
Tho' Signs like daffodils paint the strand
When the thirsty bees begin,
Of all the good taverns in Engeland
My choice is—The Mermaid Inn.
Chorus: There is much to be said for The Saracen's Head,
But my choice is The Mermaid Inn.
Into the tavern they rushed, these roaring boys.
"Now broach your ripest and your best," they cried.
"All's well! They are all released! They are on the way!
Old Camden and young Selden worked the trick.
Where is Dame Dimpling? Where's our jolly hostess?
Tell her the Mermaid Tavern will have guests:
We are sent to warn her. She must raid Cook's Row,
And make their ovens roar. Nobody dines
This day with old Duke Humphrey. Red-deer pies,
Castles of almond crust, a shield of brawn
Big as the nether millstone, barrels of wine,
Three roasted peacocks! Ben is on the way!"
Then all the rafters rang with song again:—
There was a Prince—long since, long since!—
To East Cheape did resort,
For that he loved The Blue Boar's Head
Far better than Crown or Court;
But old King Harry in Westminster
Hung up, for all to see,
Three bells of power in St. Stephen's Tower,
Yea, bells of a thousand and three,
Chorus: Three bells of power in a timber tower,
Thirty thousand and three,