The bush then served him for a sign, with chequers at the door,
His ale was fine, and choice his wine, of which he had good store,
The fine old English publican, who served in olden times.
Upon the hearth the fire then blaz’d with logs and roots of trees,
The chimney corner held a score who sat round at their ease;
’Twas there the song and ale went round the social guests to please,
’Till morning chimes bid them depart; we’ll ne’er see times like these.
The fine, &c.
They brewed their ale and bak’d their bread, bacon on the rack,
And poultry which the ale-wife fed, and flour in by the sack: