Ah , said a Frenchman to a jolly dean,
Who sate one day, twirling his thumbs serene, —
You clergy are the dogs for happy lives!
Nothing to do, no work, no wants, no wives!
Nothing to bother you at bed or board!
Hearts always gay; a cellar always stored;
Nothing to pay for it but saying grace!
Halt there, my friend! cries he of the red face:
Lavish descriptions raise uneasy questions:
D'ye count as nothing, pray, one's indigestions?