Dear Mother, dear Mother, the Church is cold,



But the Ale-house is healthy & pleasant & warm;



Besides I can tell where I am use'd well,



Such usage in heaven will never do well.







But if at the Church they would give us some Ale.



And a pleasant fire, our souls to regale;



We'd sing and we'd pray, all the live-long day;



Nor ever once wish from the Church to stray,







Then the Parson might preach & drink & sing.



And we'd be as happy as birds in the spring:



And modest dame Lurch, who is always at Church,



Would not have bandy children nor fasting nor birch.







And God like a father rejoicing to see,



His children as pleasant and happy as he:



Would have no more quarrel with the Devil or the Barrel



But kiss him & give him both drink and apparel.





