For calculated he was NOT
To please a woman's whim.

He wasn't good, despite the air
An M.B. waistcoat gives;
Indeed, his dearest friends declare
No greater humbug lives.

No kind of virtue decked this priest,
He'd nothing to allure;
He wasn't handsome in the least,--
He wasn't even poor.

No--he was cursed with acres fat
(A Christian's direst ban),
And gold--yet, notwithstanding that,
Poor ELLEN loved the man.

As unlike BERNARD as could be
Was poor old AARON WOOD
(Disgraceful BERNARD'S curate he):
He was extremely good.

A BAYARD in his moral pluck
Without reproach or fear,
A quiet venerable duck
With fifty pounds a year.

No fault had he--no fad, except
A tendency to strum,