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 pretty 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."

"But you will not be quite alone,
For, though they've chaplains of their own,
Of course this noble 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."