I DRINK of the Ale of Southwark, I drink of the Ale of Chepe; At noon I dream on the settle; at night I cannot sleep; For my love, my love it groweth; I waste me all the day; And when I see sweet Alison, I know not what to say. The sparrow when he spieth his Dear upon the tree, He beateth-to his little wing; he chirketh lustily; But when I see sweet Alison, the words begin to fail; I wot that I shall die of Love -- an I die not of Ale. Her lips are like the muscadel; her brows are black as ink; Her eyes are bright as beryl stones that in the tankard wink; But when she sees me coming, she shrilleth out -- 'Te-Hee! Fye on thy ruddy nose, Cousin, what lackest thou of me?' 'Fye on thy ruddy nose, Cousin! Why be thine eyes so small? Why go thy legs tap-lappetty like men that fear to fall? Why is thy leathern doublet besmeared with stain and spot? Go to. Thou art no man (she saith) -- thou art a Pottle-pot!' 'No man,' i'faith. 'No man!' she saith. And 'Pottle-pot' thereto! 'Thou sleepest like our dog all day; thou drink'st as fishes do.' I would that I were Tibb the dog; he wags at her his tail; Or would that I were fish, in truth, and all the sea were Ale! So I drink of the Ale of Southwark, I drink of the Ale of Chepe; All day I dream in the sunlight; I dream and eke I weep, But little lore of loving can any flagon teach, For when my tongue is loosed most, then most I lose my speech. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ABU SALAMMAMM - A SONG OF EMPIRE by EZRA POUND CENTRAL PARK AT DUSK by SARA TEASDALE HOW TO GET ON IN SOCIETY by JOHN BETJEMAN CARILLON by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW THE LORD OF BURLEIGH by ALFRED TENNYSON |