LIST while the poet trolls Of MR.CLAYTON HOOPER,Who had a cure of souls At SpifftonextraSooper.
He lived on curds and whey,And daily sang their praises,And then he'd go and play With buttercups and daisies.
Wild croquet 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!"
And HOOPER,disinclined His trumpet to be blowing,Yet didn't think you'd find A milder curate going.
A friend arrived one day At SpifftonextraSooper,And in this shameful way He spoke to Mr.HOOPER:
"You think your famous name For mildness can't be shaken,That none can blot your fame But,HOOPER,you're mistaken!
"Your mind is not as blank As that of HOPLEY PORTER,Who holds a curate's rank At AssesmilkcumWorter.
"HE plays the airy flute,And looks depressed and blighted,Doves round about him 'toot,'And lambkins dance delighted.
"HE labours more than you At worsted work,and frames it;In old maids'albums,too,Sticks seaweed yes,and names it!"