“All these about the house you’ll find.”—
“Well,” said the parson, “never mind;
I’ll manage to submit to these
Luxurious superfluities.
“A clergyman who does not shirk
The various calls of Christian work,
Will have no leisure to employ
These ‘common forms’ of worldly joy.
“To preach three times on Sabbath days—
To wean the lost from wicked ways—
The sick to soothe—the sane to wed—
The poor to feed with meat and bread;
“These are the various wholesome ways
In which I’ll spend my nights and days:
My zeal will have no time to cool
At croquêt, archery, or pool.”
The agent said, “From what I hear,
This living will not suit, I fear—
There are no poor, no sick at all;
For services there is no call.”
The reverend gent looked grave, “Dear me!
Then there is no ‘society’?—
I mean, of course, no sinners there
Whose souls will be my special care?”
The cunning agent shook his head,
“No, none—except”—(the agent said)—
“The Duke of A., the Earl of B.,
The Marquis C., and Viscount D.
“But you will not be quite alone,
For though they’ve chaplains of their own,
Of course this noble well-bred clan
Receive the parish clergyman.”
“Oh, silence, sir!” said Simon M.,
“Dukes—Earls! What should I care for them?
These worldly ranks I scorn and flout!”
“Of course,” the agent said, “no doubt!”
“Yet I might show these men of birth
The hollowness of rank on earth.”
The agent answered, “Very true—
But I should not, if I were you.”