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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.
"In mildness to abound
My curate's sole design is,
In all the country round
There's none so mild as mine is!"
