In any place you please,
Although, if there is any line
Which is most obviously mine,
It is the man of ease--
The man whose intellect is such
He never has to labour much,
But does the literary touch
In comfort at "The Leas."

Or I could be a splendid Squire
And watch the harvest grow,
Could urge the reaper to perspire
And put the cattle in the byre
(If that is where they go),
And every morning do the rounds
Of my immense ancestral grounds
With six or seven faithful hounds,
And say, "It looks like snow."

And there are moments when I feel
The diplomatic call;
No trickery would long conceal
The state of things at Bubazeel
When I was at the Ball,
To spy across the "brilliant floors"
On daughters of Ambassadors,
And "obviate" impending wars
By dancing with them all.

A bishopric I can't afford,