Merrily taking twopenny ale and cheese with a pocket knife; / But these were luxuries not for him who went for the Simple Life.

St George he was for England, / And before he killed the dragon / He drank a pint of English ale / Out of an English flagon.

Filled with mingled cream and amber I will drain that glass again. Such hilarious visions clamber Through the chambers of my brain -- Quaintest thoughts -- queerest fancies Come to life and fade away; Who cares how time advances? I am drinking ale today.

Or merry swains, who quaff the nut-brown ale, and sing enamoured of the nut-brown maid.

White founts falling in the courts of the sun, / And the Soldan of Byzantium is smiling as they run.

There is a great deal of difference between an eager man who wants to read a book, and a tired man who wants a book to read.