Ah me, these Vestry vultures on the pounce!
They scare me, skin me, bully me, and bilk me.
Soon of my flesh they'll scarce have left an ounce,
They so persistently maul, mulct, and milk me.
Once in five years they send me papers blue,
And papers white, and likewise papers yellow;
They "want to know, you know," indeed they do.
First the "First Clerk," a devil of a fellow!
Challenges me to up and tell him all
About gross value, also value rateable.
It's all pure fudge. I am their helpless thrall,
To an extent in civil speech unstateable.
They will not take _my_ word. If I appeal,
They hale me up before a stern Committee,
Fellows with brazen faces, hearts of steel,
And destitute of manners as of pity.
My solemn statement, or my mild demur,
To them a subject of fierce scorn and scoff is;
An honest citizen feels but a cur
When snapped and snarled at by these Jacks-in-Office.
They're sure to have the pull of me somehow;
Oh! I've read "Handbooks." I've attended Meetings
Where angry ratepayers raise fruitless row;
But, bless you, these bold roarings turn to bleatings,
When they the cruel inquisition face
Of some austere Committee of Assessment.
Until I found myself in that dread place
I never knew what fogged and foiled distress meant.
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