Where once with lads I scoffed my beer <br /> The landlord's lass I've wed. <br />Now I am lord and master here;-- <br /> Thank God! the old man's dead. <br />I stand behind a blooming bar <br /> With belly like a tub, <br />And pals say, seeing my cigar: <br /> 'Bill's wed a pub.' <br /> <br />I wonder now if I did well, <br /> My freedom for to lose; <br />Knowing my wife is fly as hell <br /> I mind my 'Ps' and 'Qs'. <br />Oh what a fuss she made because <br /> I tweaked the barmaid's bub: <br />Alas! a sorry day it was <br /> I wed a pub. <br /> <br />Fat landlord of the Golden Pig, <br /> They call me 'mister' now; <br />And many a mug of beer I swig, <br /> Yet don't get gay, somehow. <br />So farmer fellows, lean and clean <br /> Who sweat to earn your grub, <br />Although you haven't got a bean: <br /> Don't wed a pub.<br /><br />Robert William Service<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/at-the-golden-pig/
