’Tis his home who possesses not one of his own;
And to him who has rather too much of that one,
’Tis the house of a friend where he’s welcome to run;
The instant you enter my door you’re my Lord,
With whose taste and whose pleasure I’m proud to accord,
And the louder you call, and the longer you stay,
The more I am happy to serve and obey.
To the house of a friend if you’re pleased to retire,
You must all things admit, you must all tilings admire;
You must pay with observance the price of your treat,