 | English Roses |  |
RATHER REVEREND.
The Rather Reverend Peter Brown,
Who was a rural Dean,
Enjoyed a living in a town
Like him not very lean—
A country town, where people woke
Up only once a week
On market day, and dimly spoke
As drowsy people speak,
And sank to rest again and kept
At bay each lively sound,
And did their business as they slept
Till Saturday came round;
A place, where farmers one or two,
Some dirty pigs at play,
And none with anything to do,
Composed a market day:
Where, if you went into a shop
By pressing duty nerved,
The tradesmen seemed to need a prop
And nodded as they served;
Where, when you sadly needed change,
No vendor could be wil'd,
But only thought the question strange
And feebly at you smil'd.
Who was a rural Dean,
Enjoyed a living in a town
Like him not very lean—
A country town, where people woke
Up only once a week
On market day, and dimly spoke
As drowsy people speak,
And sank to rest again and kept
At bay each lively sound,
And did their business as they slept
235
A place, where farmers one or two,
Some dirty pigs at play,
And none with anything to do,
Composed a market day:
Where, if you went into a shop
By pressing duty nerved,
The tradesmen seemed to need a prop
And nodded as they served;
Where, when you sadly needed change,
No vendor could be wil'd,
But only thought the question strange
And feebly at you smil'd.
The Rather Reverend Peter Brown
Was somewhat sleepy too,
And once put on his partner's gown—
Which nobody should do—
Instead of his own Oxford best,
His beautiful M.A.,
Wherein his portly person drest
Swept worldly things away—
And thus paraded to the church,
Before he marked the wrong
Which left a lady in the lurch
And spoiled his matin song.
He had a round and ruddy face,
A fat and feeling voice,
And all he did demanded space—
Indeed, he had no choice:
His sentiments and body grew
As he had richly sown,
Of life he took a liberal view—
If mainly for his own.
He met with large opinions all
And packed each larder shelf,
Believed in God, filled sty and stall,
Expanding still himself.
Was somewhat sleepy too,
And once put on his partner's gown—
Which nobody should do—
Instead of his own Oxford best,
His beautiful M.A.,
Wherein his portly person drest
Swept worldly things away—
And thus paraded to the church,
Before he marked the wrong
Which left a lady in the lurch
And spoiled his matin song.
He had a round and ruddy face,
A fat and feeling voice,
And all he did demanded space—
Indeed, he had no choice:
His sentiments and body grew
As he had richly sown,
Of life he took a liberal view—
If mainly for his own.
He met with large opinions all
And packed each larder shelf,
Believed in God, filled sty and stall,
Expanding still himself.
The Rather Reverend Peter Brown
Was greatly given to snuff,
In spite of the conjugal frown
And many a sharp rebuff;
He took it boldly as he preached
Before the Bishop's face,
And out of doors until it reached
Across the market-place;
Where'er he went he left a track
No testimony dim,
And little boys behind his back
Ran sneezing after him;
He took it oft when'er he ate
From dusty pockets deep—
A ready witness was his plate,
He took it in his sleep.
And once, when he was duly bound
On preaching for a friend,
And to avoid the wind turned round
Just for the usual end,
He quite forgot again to turn
In his ecstatic state,
And travelled home and did not learn
The error till too late.
Was greatly given to snuff,
236
And many a sharp rebuff;
He took it boldly as he preached
Before the Bishop's face,
And out of doors until it reached
Across the market-place;
Where'er he went he left a track
No testimony dim,
And little boys behind his back
Ran sneezing after him;
He took it oft when'er he ate
From dusty pockets deep—
A ready witness was his plate,
He took it in his sleep.
And once, when he was duly bound
On preaching for a friend,
And to avoid the wind turned round
Just for the usual end,
He quite forgot again to turn
In his ecstatic state,
And travelled home and did not learn
The error till too late.
The Rather Reverend Peter Brown
Invested in a horse,
And threw a mint of money down
Without the least remorse;
But soon repenting of his deed
And with a knowing air,
He cantered off upon the steed
And sold it at the Fair;
Next morning merrily he came
With crafty tone and touch,
And bought once more the very same—
For merely twice as much.
It's said he trotted to a Meet—
But not of hunting hounds—
Where clergy people found it sweet,
To sport on sacred grounds;
But ere the others he would fain
Pursue his homeward course,
Yet could not tell with all his pain
Which was the proper horse;
So when an hour was sadly past
And nothing further known,
He humbly mounted on the last
And hoped it was his own.
Invested in a horse,
And threw a mint of money down
Without the least remorse;
But soon repenting of his deed
And with a knowing air,
He cantered off upon the steed
And sold it at the Fair;
Next morning merrily he came
With crafty tone and touch,
And bought once more the very same—
For merely twice as much.
It's said he trotted to a Meet—
But not of hunting hounds—
Where clergy people found it sweet,
To sport on sacred grounds;
But ere the others he would fain
237
Yet could not tell with all his pain
Which was the proper horse;
So when an hour was sadly past
And nothing further known,
He humbly mounted on the last
And hoped it was his own.
The Rather Reverend Peter Brown
Delighted much to sing
Good loyal tunes, and took the Crown
Beneath his ample wing;
He played at politics and cards
And somehow always won,
He had a cousin in the Guards
And coached Lord Acre's son;
He hobnobbed with Sir Oyly Smith
A knighted grocer man,
And taught him how the solar myth
To wild excesses ran;
He went to London every year
To clear his country mind,
And found hotels were wondrous dear,
But left his wife behind;
He laid a fiver on his choice
To win the Derby race,
And wrapt in cotton wool his voice
When in a doubtful place;
He gave poor people soup and coal,
And never hurt a friend
Or enemy, and on the whole
Was “Rather Reverend.”
Delighted much to sing
Good loyal tunes, and took the Crown
Beneath his ample wing;
He played at politics and cards
And somehow always won,
He had a cousin in the Guards
And coached Lord Acre's son;
He hobnobbed with Sir Oyly Smith
A knighted grocer man,
And taught him how the solar myth
To wild excesses ran;
He went to London every year
To clear his country mind,
And found hotels were wondrous dear,
But left his wife behind;
He laid a fiver on his choice
To win the Derby race,
And wrapt in cotton wool his voice
When in a doubtful place;
He gave poor people soup and coal,
And never hurt a friend
Or enemy, and on the whole
Was “Rather Reverend.”
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