This would be an apt entry in a history of radical poetry.

The Little Vagabond

            William Blake

Dear Mother, dear Mother, the Church is cold.

But the Ale-house is healthy & pleasant & warm;

Besides I can tell where I am us’d well.

Such usage in heaven will never do well.

 

But if at the Church, they would give us some Ale,

And a pleasant fire, our souls to regale:

We’d sing and we’d pray, all the live-long day,

Nor ever once wish from the Church to stray;

 

Then the Parson might preach & drink & sing.

And we’d be as happy as birds in the spring:

And modest dame Lurch, who is always at Church,

Would not have bandy children nor fasting nor birch.

 

And God like a father rejoicing to see

His children as pleasant and happy as he:

Would have no more quarrel with the Devil or the Barrel,

But kiss him & give him both drink and apparel.