Classic Poem

To Swanage--that neat little town in whose bay
Fair Thetis shows off in her best silver slippers--
Lord Bags took his annual trip t'other day,
To taste the sea breezes and chat with the dippers.

There--learned as he is in conundrums and laws--
Quoth he to his dame (whom he oft plays the wag on),
"Why are chancery suitors like bathers?"--"Because
Their suits are put off, till they haven't a rag on."

Thus on he went chatting--but, lo! while he chats,
With a face full of wonder around him he looks;
For he misses his parsons, his dear shovel hats,
Who used to flock round him at Swanage like rooks.

"How is this, Lady Bags?--to this region aquatic
"Last year they came swarming to make me their bow,
"As thick as Burke's cloud o'er the vales of Carnatic,
"Deans, Rectors, D.D.'s--where the devil are they now?"

"My dearest Lord Bags!" saith his dame, "can you doubt?
"I am loath to remind you of things so unpleasant;
"But don't you perceive, dear, the Church have found out
"That you're one of the people called Ex's, at present?"

"Ah, true--you have hit it--I am, indeed, one
"Of those ill-fated Ex's (his Lordship replies),
"And with tears, I confess--God forgive me the pun!--
"We X's have proved ourselves not to be Y's."