For richer no realm ever gave;
But why, ye unchristian objectors,
Do you ask us how many we crave?
Oh, there can’t be too many rich livings,
For souls of the Pluralist kind,
Who, despising old Cocker’s misgivings,
To numbers can ne’er be confin’d.
Count the cormorants hovering about,
At the time their fish season sets in,
When these models of keen diners-out