A homily of homophones

Twas daybreak as this bright morn I rose Greeted at breakfast by my darling Rose A brief time together as by seven I've left Out to the garden, the street and then left Along cobbled paths where the dogs bark To work as the foreman, my order to bark The abattoir workers tirelessly cut up the meat Despite the condition, smiling at all they meet. Chopping and cutting up every small piece Awaiting a break for a rest and some peace. A cup of water then back plucking the fowl Some people can't hack the smell is so foul. At six the work ends and the whistle is blew We wash up our hands they are black and blue Home via The Dragon for a jug of the best ale, Men's medicine, a cure-all for what they all ail. Back home to Rose, my drink she would pour A simple life, you make the best if your poor We huddle together watching the embers in the grate. We make thanks for our lot, and what makes England great.