Remember, too, how all the crew
With indignation blind, Matilda,
Distinctly swore they ne’er before
Had thought me so unkind, Matilda.
And how they’d shun me one by one—
An unforgiving group, Matilda—
I stopped their howls and sulky scowls
By pizening their soup, Matilda!
So pause to think, before you drink
The dregs of Lethe’s cup, Matilda;
Remember, do, what I’ve gone through,
Before you give me up, Matilda.
Recall again the mental pain
Of what I’ve had to do, Matilda,
And be assured that I’ve endured
It, all along of you, Matilda!
THE REVEREND SIMON MAGUS
A rich advowson, highly prized,
For private sale was advertised;
And many a parson made a bid;
The Reverend Simon Magus did.
He sought the agent’s: “Agent, I
Have come prepared at once to buy
(If your demand is not too big)
The Cure of Otium-cum-Digge.”
“Ah!” said the agent, “there’s a berth—
The snuggest vicarage on earth;
No sort of duty (so I hear),
And fifteen hundred pounds a year!
“If on the price we should agree,
The living soon will vacant be;
The good incumbent’s ninety five,
And cannot very long survive.
“See—here’s his photograph—you see,
He’s in his dotage.” “Ah, dear me!
Poor soul!” said Simon. “His decease
Would be a merciful release!”
The agent laughed—the agent blinked—
The agent blew his nose and winked—
And poked the parson’s ribs in play—
It was that agent’s vulgar way.
The Reverend Simon frowned: “I grieve
This light demeanour to perceive;
It’s scarcely comme il faut, I think:
Now—pray oblige me—do not wink.