Must not be too luxurious;
No
stately halls with oaken floor -
It should be
decent and no more.
" No billiard-rooms - no
stately trees -
No croquet-grounds or pineries."
"Ah!" sighed the agent, "very true:
This property won't do for you."
"All these about the house you'll find." -
"Well," said the
parson, "never mind;
I'll manage to
submit to these
Luxurious superfluities.
"A
clergyman who does not shirk
The various calls of Christian work,
Will have no
leisure to employ
These 'common forms' of
worldly joy.
"To
preach three times on Sabbath days -
To wean the lost from
wicked ways -
The sick to
soothe - the sane to wed -
The poor to feed with meat and bread;
"These are the various
wholesome ways
In which I'll spend my nights and days:
My zeal will have no time to cool
At croquet, archery, or pool."
The agent said, "From what I hear,
This living will not suit, I fear -
There are no poor, no sick at all;
For services there is no call."
The
reverend gent looked grave, "Dear me!
Then there is NO 'society'? -
I mean, of course, no sinners there
Whose souls will be my special care?"
The
cunning agent shook his head,
"No, none - except" - (the agent said) -
"The DUKE OF A., the EARL OF B.,
The MARQUIS C., and VISCOUNT D.
"But you will not be quite alone,
For though they've chaplains of their own,
Of course this noble well-bred clan
Receive the
parishclergyman."
"Oh, silence, sir!" said SIMON M.,
"Dukes - Earls! What should I care for them?
These
worldly ranks I scorn and flout!"
"Of course," the agent said, "no doubt!"
"Yet I might show these men of birth
The hollowness of rank on earth."
The agent answered, "Very true -
But I should not, if I were you."
"Who sells this rich advowson, pray?"
The agent winked - it was his way -
"His name is HART; 'twixt me and you,
He is, I'm grieved to say, a Jew!"
"A Jew?" said SIMON, "happy find!
I purchase this advowson, mind.
My life shall be
devoted to
Converting that
unhappy Jew!"
Ballad: Damon v. Pythias
Two better friends you wouldn't pass
Throughout a summer's day,
Than DAMON and his PYTHIAS, -
Two merchant princes they.
At school together they contrived
All sorts of
boyish larks;
And, later on, together thrived
As merry merchants' clerks.
And then, when many years had flown,
They rose together till
They bought a business of their own -
And they conduct it still.
They loved each other all their lives,
Dissent they never knew,
And, stranger still, their very wives
Were rather friendly too.
Perhaps you think, to serve my ends,
These statements I refute,
When I admit that these dear friends
Were parties to a suit?
But 'twas a friendly action, for
Good PYTHIAS, as you see,
Fought merely as executor,
And DAMON as trustee.
They laughed to think, as through the throng
Of suitors sad they passed,
That they, who'd lived and loved so long,
Should go to law at last.
The
junior briefs they kindly let
Two sucking
counsel hold;
These
learned persons never yet
Had fingered suitors' gold.
But though the happy suitors two
Were friendly as could be,
Not so the
juniorcounsel who
Were earning
maiden fee.
They too, till then, were friends. At school
They'd done each other's sums,
And under Oxford's gentle rule
Had been the closest chums.
But now they met with scowl and grin
In every public place,
And often snapped their fingers in
Each other's
learned face.
It almost ended in a fight
When they on path or stair
Met face to face. They made it quite
A personal affair.
And when at length the case was called
(It came on rather late),
Spectators really were appalled
To see their
deadly hate.
One
junior rose - with eyeballs tense,
And
swollen frontal veins:
To all his powers of eloquence
He gave the fullest reins.
His
argument was novel - for
A
verdict he relied
On blackening the
juniorUpon the other side.
"Oh," said the Judge, in robe and fur,
"The matter in dispute
To
arbitration pray refer -
This is a friendly suit."
And PYTHIAS, in merry mood,
Digged DAMON in the side;
And DAMON, tickled with the feud,
With other digs replied.
But oh! those
deadlycounsel twain,
Who were such friends before,
Were never reconciled again -
They quarrelled more and more.
At length it happened that they met
On Alpine heights one day,
And thus they paid each one his debt,
Their fury had its way -
They seized each other in a trice,
With scorn and
hatred filled,
And, falling from a precipice,
They, both of them, were killed.
Ballad: My Dream
The other night, from cares exempt,
I slept - and what d'you think I dreamt?
I dreamt that somehow I had come
To dwell in Topsy-Turveydom -
Where vice is
virtue -
virtue, vice:
Where nice is nasty - nasty, nice:
Where right is wrong and wrong is right -
Where white is black and black is white.
Where babies, much to their surprise,
Are born astonishingly wise;
With every Science on their lips,
And Art at all their finger-tips.
For, as their nurses dandle them
They crow binomial theorem,
With views (it seems
absurd to us)
On differential calculus.
But though a babe, as I have said,
Is born with
learning in his head,
He must forget it, if he can,
Before he calls himself a man.
For that which we call folly here,
Is
wisdom in that
favoured sphere;
The
wisdom we so highly prize
Is blatant folly in their eyes.
A boy, if he would push his way,
Must learn some
nonsense every day;
And cut, to carry out this view,
His
wisdom teeth and
wisdom too.
Historians burn their
midnight oils,
Intent on giant-killers' toils;
And sages close their aged eyes
To other sages' lullabies.
Our magistrates, in duty bound,
Commit all robbers who are found;
But there the Beaks (so people said)
Commit all robberies instead.
Our Judges, pure and wise in tone,
Know crime from theory alone,
And glean the motives of a thief
From books and popular belief.
But there, a Judge who wants to prime
His mind with true ideas of crime,
Derives them from the common sense
Of practical experience.
Policemen march all folks away
Who
practisevirtue every day -
Of course, I mean to say, you know,
What we call
virtue here below.
For only scoundrels dare to do
What we consider just and true,
And only good men do, in fact,
What we should think a dirty act.
But strangest of these social twirls,
The girls are boys - the boys are girls!
The men are women, too - but then,
PER CONTRA, women all are men.
To one who to
tradition clings
This seems an
awkward state of things,
But if to think it out you try,
It doesn't really signify.
With them, as surely as can be,
A sailor should be sick at sea,
And not a passenger may sail
Who cannot smoke right through a gale.