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An Original Collection of Songs

sung at the Theatres Royal, Public Concerts &c. &c. By W. T. Moncrieff

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INNS FOR OUTS.
  
  
  
  
  
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INNS FOR OUTS.

[_]

Written Extempore, and sung by the Author, at a Meeting of the Licensed Victuallers Charity.

Dame Nature orders wisely still,
That each content may win;

110

For every Jack there is a Jill,
For every out an inn.
They're reckoning ‘without their Host,’
Who slight the Vintner's aid,
For Hospitality's his toast,
And welcome is his trade.
With them all classes find a port,
To succour, licensed all,
And rich and poor alike resort,
Inviting great and small.
The King unto the Woolsack goes,
The Noble to the Crown,
The Gentry tipple 'neath the Rose,
The Plough attraets the Clown.
The Doctor hurries to the Spade,
The Sexton to the Shovel
The Parson seeks the Mitre's aid,
The Lawyer likes the Devil.
Our Herve's to the Duke's Head hie,
The Olive Branch each scorns;
The Ladies to the Feathers fly,
The Cit unto the Horns.
The Soldier marches to the Gun,
The Shepherd to the Lamb,
While Cobler's to the Sot's Hole run,
And Paviors' to the Ram,
Our Travellers to the World's End stalk
Our Topers to the Flaggon,
Good Women to the Phœnix walk,
And bad ones to the Dragon.
The Proctor likes the Fox and Geese,
Tax-gatherers the Boar
The hungry Bailiff seeks the Fleece,
Where the landlord's been before.
The Beadle on the Bear and Staff
Will never turn his back,

111

The Cooper at the Tun will quaff—
The Pedlar seeks the Pack.
As Shenstone says, all, who life's round
Have trod, whate'er the scene—
Must own, with joy, they still have found
A welcome at an Inn.
There 'tis clear, beyond a doubt,
That all a home may win—
There is an Inn for every out
For every out an Inn.