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.”
“Who sells this rich advowson, pray?”
The agent winked—it was his way—
“His name is Hart; ’twixt me and you,
He is, I’m grieved to say, a Jew!”
“A Jew?” said Simon, “happy find!
I purchase this advowson, mind.
My life shall be devoted to
Converting that unhappy Jew!”
DAMON v. PYTHIAS
Two better friends you wouldn’t pass
Throughout a summer’s day,
Than Damon and his Pythias,—
Two merchant princes they.
At school together they contrived
All sorts of boyish larks;
And, later on, together thrived
As merry merchants’ clerks.