You are old, Father Williams.
"You are old, Father Williams," the young man said, "And your church has become very wild. They don't seem to notice that you're at the head - And Giles Fraser just screams like a child." "In my youth," the Archbishop said, watching them fight, "I thought all my flock could agree; But now I've a subject on which they'll unite - They're all feeling angry with me."
Que sera sera, Whatever Welby, Welby...No, that's been done...
My bishop's got a red, red, nose.
My bishop's got a red, red, nose, From drinking too much port. His wife could do the job as well - Now, there's a brilliant thought!
If...
If you can bind the Church of England tighter, And get it to calm down, if not agree, About just who's allowed to wear a mitre And run a diocese - that is, a see... If you can reconcile the Lib and Evo With Anglo-Cath and rabid Atheist, Then, when at last you're given the old heave-ho, And go to Cambridge, maybe you'll be missed.
There is nothing like a dame...
We got Durham, Ely, London, We got Birmingham and York, We got Winchester and Bradford, (Now that's one who loves to talk!) We got Liverpool and Norwich, And a lot more calling names! What ain't we got? We ain't got dames!
