[31]

 BALLADE OF THE “CHESHIRE CHEESE” IN FLEET STREET[3]

I know a home of antique ease

Within the smoky city’s pale,

A spot wherein the spirit sees

Old London through a thinner veil.

The modern world, so stiff and stale,

You leave behind you, when you please,

For long clay pipes and great old ale

And supper in the “Cheshire Cheese.”

Beneath this board, Burke’s, Goldsmith’s knees

Were often thrust—so runs the tale—

’Twas here the Doctor took his ease,

And wielded speech that, like a flail,

Thresh’d out the golden truth: All hail

Great souls! that met on nights like these,

For talk and laughter, pipes and ale,

And supper in the “Cheshire Cheese.”

By kindly sense, and old decrees

Of England’s use you set your sail—

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