---

William Schwenck Gilbert - The Rival Curates
Work rating: Low

List while the poet trolls
Of MR. CLAYTON HOOPER,
Who had a cure of souls
At Spiffton-extra-Sooper.

He lived on curds and whey,
And daily sang their praises,
And then he`d go and play
With buttercups and daisies.

Wild croquet HOOPER banned,
And all the sports of Mammon,
He warred with cribbage, and
He exorcised backgammon.

His helmet was a glance
That spoke of holy gladness;
A saintly smile his lance;
His shield a tear of sadness.

His Vicar smiled to see
This armour on him buckled:
With pardonable glee
He blessed himself and chuckled.

"In mildness to abound
My curate`s sole design is;
In all the country round
There`s none so mild as mine is!"

And HOOPER, disinclined
His trumpet to be blowing,
Yet didn`t think you`d find
A milder curate going.

A friend arrived one day
At Spiffton-extra-Sooper,
And in this shameful way
He spoke to Mr. HOOPER:

"You think your famous name
For mildness can`t be shaken,
That none can blot your fame -
But, HOOPER, you`re mistaken!

"Your mind is not as blank
As that of HOPLEY PORTER,
Who holds a curate`s rank
At Assesmilk-cum-Worter.

"HE plays the airy flute,
And looks depressed and blighted,
Doves round about him `toot,`
And lambkins dance delighted.

"HE labours more than you
At worsted work, and frames it;
In old maids` albums, too,
Sticks seaweed - yes, and names  it!"

The tempter said his say,
Which pierced him like a needle -
He summoned straight away
His sexton and his beadle.

(These men were men who could
Hold liberal opinions:
On Sundays they were good -
On week-days they were minions.)

"To HOPLEY PORTER go,
Your fare I will afford you -
 Deal him a deadly blow,
And blessings shall reward you.

"But stay - I do not like
Undue assassination,
And so before you strike,
Make this communication:

"I`ll give him this one chance -
If he`ll more gaily bear him,
Play croquet, smoke, and dance,
I willingly will spare him."

They went, those minions true,
To Assesmilk-cum-Worter,
And told their errand to
The REVEREND HOPLEY PORTER.

"What?" said that reverend gent,
"Dance through my hours of leisure?
Smoke? - bathe myself with scent? -
Play croquet?  Oh, with pleasure!

"Wear all my hair in curl?
Stand at my door and wink - so -
At every passing girl?
My brothers, I should think so!

"For years I`ve longed for some
Excuse for this revulsion:
Now that excuse has come -
I do it on compulsion!!!"

He smoked and winked away -
This REVEREND HOPLEY PORTER -
The deuce there was to pay
At Assesmilk-cum-Worter.

And HOOPER holds his ground,
In mildness daily growing -
They think him, all around,
The mildest curate going.
Source
The script ran 0.002 seconds.