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The Roebuck at Toft.
AN OLD WAYSIDE INN REMOVED IN 1864.
On the Mail have I travell'd times many and oft,
Looking out for the sign of the Roebuck at Toft;
Or and gules was the blazonry, party per pale,
The head was attir'd like the haunches and tail,
In his muzzle an olive branch proper was stuck,
And the villagers call'd him the bloody-tail'd Buck.
Looking out for the sign of the Roebuck at Toft;
Or and gules was the blazonry, party per pale,
The head was attir'd like the haunches and tail,
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And the villagers call'd him the bloody-tail'd Buck.
The Chestnut-tree well I remember whose shade
Overhung the bright tints which the Roebuck display'd;
And the bench which invited the weary to rest,
And mine Host who came out with a mug of his best!
They have fell'd the old tree, they have stopp'd the old mail,
And alas! the old cellar is empty of ale;
And now from the post, where he swung high and dry,
They have pull'd down the Roebuck—I wish I knew why—
I dare not inquire at the Jerryshop near,
Or the man might insist on my tasting his beer.
Overhung the bright tints which the Roebuck display'd;
And the bench which invited the weary to rest,
And mine Host who came out with a mug of his best!
They have fell'd the old tree, they have stopp'd the old mail,
And alas! the old cellar is empty of ale;
And now from the post, where he swung high and dry,
They have pull'd down the Roebuck—I wish I knew why—
I dare not inquire at the Jerryshop near,
Or the man might insist on my tasting his beer.
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