More Bab Ballads Part 11

"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 inc.u.mbent'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.

"Don't dig my waistcoat into holes-- Your mission is to sell the souls Of human sheep and human kids To that divine who highest bids.

"Do well in this, and on your head Unnumbered honours will be shed."

The agent said, "Well, truth to tell, I HAVE been doing very well."

"You should," said SIMON, "at your age; But now about the parsonage.

How many rooms does it contain?

Show me the photograph again.

"A poor apostle's humble house Must not be too luxurious; No stately halls with oaken floor-- It should be decent and no more.

" No billiard-rooms--no stately trees-- No croquet-grounds or pineries."

"Ah!" sighed the agent, "very true: This property won't do for you."

"All these about the house you'll find."-- "Well," said the parson, "never mind; I'll manage to submit to these Luxurious superfluities.

"A clergyman who does not shirk The various calls of Christian work, Will have no leisure to employ These 'common forms' of worldly joy.

"To preach three times on Sabbath days-- To wean the lost from wicked ways-- The sick to soothe--the sane to wed-- The poor to feed with meat and bread;

"These are the various wholesome ways In which I'll spend my nights and days: My zeal will have no time to cool At croquet, archery, or pool."

The agent said, "From what I hear, This living will not suit, I fear-- There are no poor, no sick at all; For services there is no call."

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 n.o.ble 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!"

Ballad: Damon v. Pythias

Two better friends you wouldn't pa.s.s 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.

And then, when many years had flown, They rose together till They bought a business of their own-- And they conduct it still.

They loved each other all their lives, Dissent they never knew, And, stranger still, their very wives Were rather friendly too.

Perhaps you think, to serve my ends, These statements I refute, When I admit that these dear friends Were parties to a suit?

But 'twas a friendly action, for Good PYTHIAS, as you see, Fought merely as executor, And DAMON as trustee.

They laughed to think, as through the throng Of suitors sad they pa.s.sed, That they, who'd lived and loved so long, Should go to law at last.

The junior briefs they kindly let Two sucking counsel hold; These learned persons never yet Had fingered suitors' gold.

But though the happy suitors two Were friendly as could be, Not so the junior counsel who Were earning maiden fee.

They too, till then, were friends. At school They'd done each other's sums, And under Oxford's gentle rule Had been the closest chums.

But now they met with scowl and grin In every public place, And often snapped their fingers in Each other's learned face.

It almost ended in a fight When they on path or stair Met face to face. They made it quite A personal affair.

And when at length the case was called (It came on rather late), Spectators really were appalled To see their deadly hate.

One junior rose--with eyeb.a.l.l.s tense, And swollen frontal veins: To all his powers of eloquence He gave the fullest reins.

His argument was novel--for A verdict he relied On blackening the junior Upon the other side.

"Oh," said the Judge, in robe and fur, "The matter in dispute To arbitration pray refer-- This is a friendly suit."

And PYTHIAS, in merry mood, Digged DAMON in the side; And DAMON, tickled with the feud, With other digs replied.

But oh! those deadly counsel twain, Who were such friends before, Were never reconciled again-- They quarrelled more and more.

At length it happened that they met On Alpine heights one day, And thus they paid each one his debt, Their fury had its way--