A very pretty public stir
Is making, down at Exeter,
About the surplice fashion:
And many bitter words and rude
Have been bestowed upon the feud,
And much unchristian passion.
For me, I neither know nor care
Whether a Parson ought to wear
A black dress or a white dress;
Fill’d with a trouble of my own,—
A Wife who preaches in her gown,
And lectures in her night-dress!
THE EPPING HUNT.
“HUNT’S ROASTED——”
“On Monday they began to hunt.”—Chevy Chase.
OHN HUGGINS was as bold a man
As trade did ever know,
A warehouse good he had, that stood
Hard by the church of Bow.
There people bought Dutch cheeses round
And single Glos’ter flat;
And English butter in a lump,
And Irish—in a pat.
Six days a week beheld him stand,
His business next his heart,
At counter, with his apron tied
About his counter-part.
The seventh, in a Sluice-house box
He took his pipe and pot;
On Sundays, for eel-piety,
A very noted spot.