Classic Poem

I' VE trudged along the Pilgrims' Way,
And from St. Martha's Hill looked down
O'er Surrey woods and fields which lay
Green in the sunlight. On the crown
Of Hindhead and the Punchbowl's brink
Of no good thing I've been bereaven:
But Arundel's the place for drink —
The pubs keep open till eleven.

White chalk-cliffs and the stubborn clay
Are thrown about, and many a town
Breaks on the sight like breaking day;
But after all, who but a clown
Could Arundel with Midhurst link,
Where men go dry from two till seven?
In Arundel (no truth I'll shrink)
The pubs keep open till eleven.

A great cool church where men can pray
Secure from misbelieving frown;
And in the Square, I beg to say,
The beer is strong and rich and brown.
Some poor, misguided people think
Petworth's the spot that's nearest Heaven:
In Arundel the ale-pots clink —
The pubs keep open till eleven.

L'Envoi

Duke, at the dreadful Judgment Day
Your soul will surely be well shriven,
For then all angel trumps shall bray,
He kept pubs open till eleven!