Classic Poem

Our dean, if you please,
Is round as a cheese
And has learned wicked ways are pleasant;
He's vulgar mayhap,
But a friendly chap
Not ashamed that his pa was a peasant.
He lives as do we,
Finds that coffee and brandy agree,
As do we,
A bottle he never refuses.
Lazy sinner! —
As we —
He loves dinner —
As we, —
But on feast-days his nature he loses.
When the priestly robes on his shoulders fall,
The rest of us feel uncommonly small,
While the dean increases in figure;
For he looks like a dean from top to toe,
And a thundering fellow I'd have you know, —
Few deans have a parish bigger.
I'll never forget in all my days
How he shone last time in the glowing blaze
Of general admiration;
Poor sinners he ground
And mashed around
In the mortar of reprobation,
Till he wept — and no shame
In that! — when he came
To speak of hell and damnation.

And even as he wept, so wept we,
For our flesh was sizzling frightfully
And all our souls were in jeopardy.
And the high church delegates looked most meek
When the dean faced about
And they followed him out,
For the Council was held in our church that week.
So you may believe
'Twas like a reprieve
When the dean with mild intonation,
As he made a slight bow,
Said: " My friends, let us now
Partake of a modest collation! "