’Mid Ritualistic clergy, though we may roam,
Be they ever so High Church, there’s no place like Rome;
No Forty-nine articles harass one there,
No Penzance to rule what a parson must wear.
Rome, Rome! Sweet, sweet Rome!
There’s no place like Rome! There’s no place like Rome!
A concert from Rome, livings dazzle in vain,
Oh, give me my stole and my incense again;
The maids sighing daily who came to my call,
The piece of mind then that I gave to them all.