Fresh strewings allow
To my sepulchre now,
To make my lodging the sweeter;
A staff or a wand
Put then in my hand,
With a penny to pay S. Peter.
Who has not a cross
Must sit with the loss,
And no whit further must venture;
Since the porter he
Will paid have his fee,
Or else not one there must enter.
Who at a dead lift
Can’t send for a gift
A pig to the priest for a roaster,
Shall hear his clerk say,
By yea and by nay,
No penny, no paternoster.
Any corrections or public domain poems I should have here? Email me at poems (at) this domain.