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WITHIN a town where parityAccording to old form we see,--That is to say, where CatholicAnd Protestant no quarrels pick,And where, as in his father's day,Each worships God in his own way,We Luth'ran children used to dwell,By songs and sermons taught as well.The Catholic clingclang in truthSounded more pleasing to our youth,For all that we encounter'd there,To us seem'd varied, joyous, fair.As children, monkeys, and mankindTo ape each other are inclin'd,We soon, the time to while away,A game at priests resolved to play.Their aprons all our sisters lentFor copes, which gave us great content;And handkerchiefs, embroider'd o'er,Instead of stoles we also wore;Gold paper, whereon beasts were traced,The bishop's brow as mitre graced.

Smile, nod, and join in the chorus with me:"Vain 'tis to wait till the dolt grows less silly!Play then the fool with the fool, willy-nilly,--