Strangers at Home

Now we've drank to the king, to our lasses and friends, And the Muses appear as the liquor ascends, Setting Fancy a-wing, or on tip-toe to roam, For a song or a catch to make Strangers at home.

May the man be despis'd, of whatever degree, Who has wealth without feeling to make a friend free, May his wife, night and morning, his caput well comb, Who's in want of a heart to make Strangers at home.

Or the boor that will frown, when an alien appears, Whose heart fills his bosom with national fears, That encloses his door, if from Paris or Rome, Some poor stranger might knock who's in want of a home.

Or when merit appears in her scanty attire, That may want a good meal, or the warmth of a fire; May the wretch that denies her, ne'er enter this dome, To chill the warm hearts of us Strangers at home.

And may he that's a stranger to friendship and love, Be deny'd all those blessings we hope for above, May his mind be perplex'd by some spell-setting gnome, Who cannot, as we do, make Strangers at home.

Let us join all our hands with a bountiful mind, And each to his neighbour, be cordial and kind; May the spirit of light, when we're rais'd from the tomb, Give us all a free welcome—as Strangers at home!