Whose Pluralists lazily fattened, like swine;
Their rubicund joles bloomed like roses:
They were used so to soak themselves full of port-wine,
That it purpled their overgrown noses.
O where and O where are those proud Parsons gone?
O where and O where shall we find them,
With the waistcoat so full, and the shovel-hat on,
As our limners in their days designed them?
A sinecure mostly the cure of the souls
To which for attention not giving