This 29th of February
I'll take - let's see - to keep me merry,
An invent'ry of what I'm worth,
In goods, and chattels, and so forth.
A bed, the best you ever saw,
With belly-full of hay and straw;
On which an Irish prince might sleep,
With blankets warm from off the sheep.
A table next, around whose coast
The full-charged glass has often sail'd,
And sparkled to the sparkling toast,
Whilst love with ease the heart assail'd:
A platter thin, a large round O,
A pot as black as any crow,
In which we bake, as well as boil,
And melt the butter into oil,
And, if occasion, make a posset;
A spigot, but we've lost the fosset;
A spoon to dash through thick and thin;
And, best of all, a rolling-pin.
A good fat hog, a cow in calf;
In cash a guinea and a half;
A cellar stor'd with foaming beer,
And bacon all the livelong year;
A hearty welcome for a friend:
And thus my Invent'ry shall end.