Few names I wot, those guests had got, that England loves to claim, But those the civic wards supplied did every bit the same, And figged-out dames with cheeks in flames, did on the throne entrench Who could not well speak English, not to say a word of French, Nor those fine old Common Councilmen, all of the present time. But “which there is,” (as they would say) a paper called _The Times_, Which drags up by the roots, all old abuses, cheats, and crimes; And when its heavy ordnance soon was pointed at Guildhall, They quaked in dread, because they knew their power soon would fall, Did these fine old Common-Councilmen, all of the present time. And surely ’twill be better far, by universal frown, When following dirty Smithfield, they themselves should be put down, Who are more vulgar than the most uneducated clown, And ought to feel at last, that they are not of much renown, These fine old Common-Councilmen, all of the present time. _The Month._ August, 1851. A VARIETY OF VICARS. Let us sing of a worthy type that is well-nigh out of date, Of the good old English Vicar, who, though small was his estate, Did all he could the poor to aid and suffering to abate, And sought the cottage door more oft than the mansion of the great, Like a good old English Vicar, one of the olden time! He never made himself the priest of an exclusive creed; His house was ever open wide to all that were in need; And ’twas his joy to cheer the sick, the hungry one to feed; And little children by the hand with loving care to lead; Like a good old English Vicar, one of the olden time! He did not social honour seek, or church preferment crave, Nor did he let base lucre’s love his kindly soul deprave, To his dear people his whole life most willingly he gave, And all the village when he died stood mourning round the grave Of this good old English Vicar, one of the olden time! But look at his successor now, a change most marked you’ll see. He is a very learned man who’s gained a high degree, And who, expecting in due course that he’ll a bishop be, Cares little for the humble folks who crave his ministry, Like a learned modern Vicar, one of the present time! Shut in his study he essays some treatise to complete, And rarely do you see his form about the village street; His voice is never heard, alas! the toiling hind to greet, And at the bedside of the poor you never, never meet This learned, modern Vicar, one of the present time!