The Gothic looks solemn,
The plain Doric column
Supports an old Bishop and Crozier;
The mouldering arch,
Shaded o’er by a larch,
Stands next door to Wilson the Hosier.
Vice,—that is, by turns,—
O’er pale faces mourns
The black tassell’d trencher and common hat;
The charity boy sings,
The Steeple-bell rings
And as for the Chancellor— dominat .
There are plenty of trees,
And plenty of ease,
And plenty of fat deer for Parsons;
And when it is venison,
Short is the benison,—
Then each on a leg or thigh fastens.