But one needn't fly off in this erudite mood;
And 'tis clear without going to regions so sunny
That priests love to do the least possible good
For the largest most possible quantum of money.
"Of him," saith the text, "unto whom much is given,
"Of him much, in turn, will be also required:"—
"By me," quoth the sleek and obese man of heaven—
"Give as much as you will—more will still be desired."
More money! more churches!—oh Nimrod, hadst thou
'Stead of Tower-extension, some shorter way gone—
Hadst thou known by what methods we mount to heaven now,
And tried Church-extension, the feat had been done!
[1] The Birmans may not buy the sacred marble in mass but must purchase figures of the deity already made.—SYMES.
MUSINGS.
SUGGESTED BY THE LATE PROMOTION OF MRS. NETHERCOAT.
"The widow of Nethercoat is appointed jailer of Loughrea, in the room
of her deceased husband."—Limerick Chronicle.
Whether as queens or subjects, in these days,
Women seem formed to grace alike each station:—
As Captain Flaherty gallantly says,
"You ladies, are the lords of the creation!"
Thus o'er my mind did prescient visions float
Of all that matchless woman yet may be;
When hark! in rumors less and less remote,
Came the glad news o'er Erin's ambient sea,
The important news—that Mrs. Nethercoat
Had been appointed jailer of Loughrea;
Yes, mark it, History—Nethercoat is dead,
And Mrs. N. now rules his realm instead;
Hers the high task to wield the uplocking keys,
To rivet rogues and reign o'er Rapparees!
Thus, while your blusterers of the Tory school
Find Ireland's sanest sons so hard to rule,
One meek-eyed matron in Whig doctrines nurst
Is all that's askt to curb the maddest, worst!