We want more Churches and more Clergymen.—Bishop of London's late Charge.Rectorum numerum, terris pereuntibus, augent.—Claudianin Eutrop.
We want more Churches and more Clergymen.—Bishop of London's late Charge.
Rectorum numerum, terris pereuntibus, augent.—Claudianin Eutrop.
Come, give us more Livings and Rectors,For richer no realm ever gave;But why, ye unchristian objectors,Do ye ask us how many we crave?Oh, there can't be too many rich LivingsFor souls of the Pluralist kind,Who, despising old Cocker's misgivings,To numbers can ne'er be confin'd.Count the cormorants hovering about,At the time their fish season sets in,When these models of keen diners-outAre preparing their beaks to begin.Count the rooks that, in clerical dresses,Flock round when the harvest's in play,And, not minding the farmer's distresses,Like devils in grain peck away.Go, number the locusts in heaven,On their way to some titheable shore;And whensomany Parsons you've given,We still shall be craving for more.Then, unless ye the Church would submerge, yeMust leave us in peace to augment,For the wretch who could number the Clergy,With few will be ever content.
Come, give us more Livings and Rectors,For richer no realm ever gave;But why, ye unchristian objectors,Do ye ask us how many we crave?Oh, there can't be too many rich LivingsFor souls of the Pluralist kind,Who, despising old Cocker's misgivings,To numbers can ne'er be confin'd.Count the cormorants hovering about,At the time their fish season sets in,When these models of keen diners-outAre preparing their beaks to begin.Count the rooks that, in clerical dresses,Flock round when the harvest's in play,And, not minding the farmer's distresses,Like devils in grain peck away.Go, number the locusts in heaven,On their way to some titheable shore;And whensomany Parsons you've given,We still shall be craving for more.Then, unless ye the Church would submerge, yeMust leave us in peace to augment,For the wretch who could number the Clergy,With few will be ever content.
Come, give us more Livings and Rectors,For richer no realm ever gave;But why, ye unchristian objectors,Do ye ask us how many we crave?
Come, give us more Livings and Rectors,
For richer no realm ever gave;
But why, ye unchristian objectors,
Do ye ask us how many we crave?
Oh, there can't be too many rich LivingsFor souls of the Pluralist kind,Who, despising old Cocker's misgivings,To numbers can ne'er be confin'd.
Oh, there can't be too many rich Livings
For souls of the Pluralist kind,
Who, despising old Cocker's misgivings,
To numbers can ne'er be confin'd.
Count the cormorants hovering about,At the time their fish season sets in,When these models of keen diners-outAre preparing their beaks to begin.
Count the cormorants hovering about,
At the time their fish season sets in,
When these models of keen diners-out
Are preparing their beaks to begin.
Count the rooks that, in clerical dresses,Flock round when the harvest's in play,And, not minding the farmer's distresses,Like devils in grain peck away.
Count the rooks that, in clerical dresses,
Flock round when the harvest's in play,
And, not minding the farmer's distresses,
Like devils in grain peck away.
Go, number the locusts in heaven,On their way to some titheable shore;And whensomany Parsons you've given,We still shall be craving for more.
Go, number the locusts in heaven,
On their way to some titheable shore;
And whensomany Parsons you've given,
We still shall be craving for more.
Then, unless ye the Church would submerge, yeMust leave us in peace to augment,For the wretch who could number the Clergy,With few will be ever content.
Then, unless ye the Church would submerge, ye
Must leave us in peace to augment,
For the wretch who could number the Clergy,
With few will be ever content.