Classic Poem

In an old quiet parish, on a brown healthy old moor.
Stands my master's old gate, whose old threshold is wore
With many an old friend who for liquor would roar,
And I uncorked the old sherry that I had tasted before.
But it was in moderation.

There I had an old quiet pantry, of the servants was the head;
And kept the key of the old cellar, and old plate, and chipped the brown bread.
If an old barrel was missing, it was easily said
That the very old beer was one morning found dead.
But it was in moderation.

But we had a good old custom when the week did begin,
To show by my accounts I had not wasted a pin;
For my lord, though he was bountiful, thought waste was a sin;
And never would lay out much but when my lady lay-in.
But still it was moderation.

Good lack! good lack! how once Dame Fortune did frown!
I left my old quiet pantry to trudge from town to town;
Worn quite off my legs in search of thumps, bobs, and cracks on the crown,
I was fairly knocked up, and very near foully knocked down.
But now there's an alteration,
Oh! it's a wonderful alteration.