The Rival Curates
LIST while the poet trollsOf MR. CLAYTON HOOPER,Who had a cure of soulsAt Spiffton-extra-Sooper.
He lived on curds and whey,And daily sang their praises,And then he’d go and playWith buttercups and daisies.
Wild croquêt HOOPER banned,And all the sports of Mammon,He warred with cribbage, andHe exorcised backgammon.
His helmet was a glanceThat spoke of holy gladness;A saintly smile his lance;His shield a tear of sadness.
His Vicar smiled to seeThis armour on him buckled:With pardonable gleeHe blessed himself and chuckled.
“In mildness to aboundMy curate’s sole design is;In all the country roundThere’s none so mild as mine is!”
And HOOPER, disinclinedHis trumpet to be blowing,Yet didn’t think you’d findA milder curate going.
A friend arrived one dayAt Spiffton-extra-Sooper,And in this shameful wayHe spoke to MR. HOOPER:
“You think your famous nameFor mildness can’t be shaken,That none can blot your fame—But, HOOPER, you’re mistaken!
“Your mind is not as blankAs that of HOPLEY PORTER,Who holds a curate’s rankAt Assesmilk-cum-Worter.
“He plays the airy flute,And looks depressed and blighted,Doves round about him ‘toot,’And lambkins dance delighted.
“He labours more than youAt worsted work, and frames it;In old maids’ albums, too,Sticks seaweed—yes, and names it!”
The tempter said his say,Which pierced him like a needle—He summoned straight awayHis sexton and his beadle.
(These men were men who couldHold liberal opinions:On Sundays they were good—On week-days they were minions.)
“To HOPLEY PORTER go,Your fare I will afford you—Deal him a deadly blow,And blessings shall reward you.
“But stay—I do not likeUndue assassination,And so before you strike,Make this communication:
“I’ll give him this one chance—If he’ll more gaily bear him,Play croquêt, smoke, and dance,I willingly will spare him.”
They went, those minions true,To Assesmilk-cum-Worter,And told their errand toThe REVEREND HOPLEY PORTER.
“What?” said that reverend gent,“Dance through my hours of leisure?Smoke?—bathe myself with scent?—Play croquêt? Oh, with pleasure!
“Wear all my hair in curl?Stand at my door and wink—so—At every passing girl?My brothers, I should think so!
“For years I’ve longed for someExcuse for this revulsion:Now that excuse has come—I do it on compulsion!!!”
He smoked and winked away—This REVEREND HOPLEY PORTER—The deuce there was to payAt Assesmilk-cum-Worter.
And HOOPER holds his ground,In mildness daily growing—They think him, all around,The mildest curate going.