When Shakespeare Came to Stay at Woodfarm Barns

To stay, or not to stay: that is the question:
Whether ’tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of city oppression,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by retreating, end them. To nap—to rest—
No more; and by a rest to say we end
The head-ache and the thousand daily shocks
That flesh is heir to—’tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish’d. To nap, to dream—
Perchance with dog. Ay, there’s the joy!
For in that sleep of Suffolk, what walks may come,
When we have shuffled off our urban coil,
Must give us pause.

There’s comfort in that barn,
Warm fire aglow and bread upon the board,
And Carl, that kind and merry host, doth greet
All wanderers with smile and gentle jest,
As if no stranger ever pass’d his door.
A gentler soul ne’er built a hearth with care.

And what of dogs? Why, here they are not cursed
Nor banishèd to boot or outhouse cold,
But welcomed bold, with towels for muddied paw,
And biscuit sweet in bowls that bear their name.

To walk, to roam—to feel the salt-sea breeze,
Where Southwold’s huts do paint the shore with joy,
Or Walberswick’s fine sands beneath the foot
Lie soft as dreams that flit on summer’s eve.
Or Dunwich, ghost of towns that once did stand,
Now swallowed by the tide, yet rich in tale.

And when the day is done, what noble inns
Await the weary soul! The pint doth pour,
The pie doth steam, the barkeep tells his tale—
And laughter rises like a chorus strong
From firelit corners of the Unruly Pig,
Or Queen’s Head snug, where time itself forgets
To tick its steady drum.

Thus conscience makes retreat of us all,
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is strengthened by the thought of Suffolk peace,
And dog in tow, and pint in hand, and sea
Beyond the hedge.

Soft you now,
The fair Woodfarm! In thy embrace we rest—
Man and beast alike. Carl, take our thanks.
We shall return ere long.

And lo! what light through yonder browser breaks?
It is the East, and Woodfarm is the sun.
For those who seek such rest, such sweet escape,
Need not consult the stars nor read the runes,
But merely click upon a page well made—
A web of woven words and pictures fair,
Where barns and barges both do sit in wait,
Each one described with care, each date made clear,
That any soul with mind to flee the noise
May book their peace with but a gentle tap.