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Paul Laurence Dunbar - At the Tavern
Work rating: Low

A lilt and a swing,  
     And a ditty to sing,
    Or ever the night grow old;
     The wine is within,
     And I`m sure t`were a sin
   For a soldier to choose to be cold, my dear,
   For a soldier to choose to be cold.
     We`re right for a spell,
     But the fever is — well,
   No thing to be braved, at least;
    So bring me the wine;
    No low fever in mine,
  For a drink more kind than a priest, my dear,
  For a drink is more kind than a 
       priest.
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