“I have a widowed mother who
Would be the very thing for you—
She long has loved you from afar:
She washes for you, Captain R.”
The Captain saw the dame that day—
Addressed her in his playful way—
“And did it want a wedding ring?
It was a tempting ickle sing!
“Well, well, the chaplain I will seek,
We’ll all be married this day week
At yonder church upon the hill;
It is my duty, and I will!”
The sisters, cousins, aunts, and niece,
And widowed Ma of Captain Reece,
Attended there as they were bid;
It was their duty, and they did.
THE RIVAL CURATES
List while the poet trolls
Of Mr. Clayton Hooper,
Who had a cure of souls
At Spiffton-extra-Sooper.
He lived on curds and whey,
And daily sang their praises,
And then he’d go and play
With buttercups and daisies.
Wild croquêt Hooper banned,
And all the sports of Mammon,
He warred with cribbage, and
He exorcised backgammon.
His helmet was a glance
That spoke of holy gladness;
A saintly smile his lance;
His shield a tear of sadness.
His Vicar smiled to see
This armour on him buckled:
With pardonable glee
He blessed himself and chuckled.