The Swan Inn, Ditton,

Theodore Hook (1834)

When sultry suns and dusty streets
Proclaim town’s winter season,
And rural scenes and cool retreats
Sound something like high treason
I steal away to shades serene,
Which yet no bard has hit on,
And change the bustling, heartless scene
For quietude and DITTON.

Here lawyers, free from legal toils,
And peers, released from duty,
Enjoy at once kind nature’s smiles,
And eke the smiles of beauty:
Beauty with talent brightly graced,
Whose name must not be written,
The idol of the fane, is placed
Within the shades at DITTON.

Let lofty mansions great men keep
I have no wish to rob ‘em
Not courtly Claremont, Esher’s steep,
Nor Squire Combe’s at Cobham.
Sir Hobhouse has a mansion rare,
A large red house at Whitton,
But Cam with Thames I can’t compare,
Nor Whitton class with DITTON.

I’d rather live, like General Moore,
In one of the pavilions
Which stand upon the other shore,
Than be the king of millions;
For though no subjects might arise
To exercise my wit on,
From morn till night I’d feast my eyes
By gazing at sweet DITTON.

The mighty Queen whom Cydnus bore,
In gold and purple floated,
But happier I, when near this shore,
Although more humbly boated.
Give me a punt, a rod, a line,
A snug arm-chair to sit on,
Some well iced punch, and weather fine,
And let me fish at DITTON.

The Swan, snug inn,  good fare affords
At table e'er was put on
And worthier quite of loftier boards
Its poultry, fish and mutton
And whilst sound wine mine host supplies
With beer of Meux or Tutton
Mine hostess with her bright eyes
Invites to stay at DITTON.

Here, in a placid waking dream,
I’m free from worldly troubles,
Calm as the rippling silver stream
That in the sunshine bubbles;
And when sweet Eden’s blissful bowers
Some abler bard has writ on,
Despairing to transcend his powers,
I’ll ditto say for DITTON.

Theodore Hook (1834)