No nuptial quarrel fhall difturb your eafe;
The business of my life shall be to please :
And for my beauty, that, as time shall try;
But draw the curtain first, and caft your eye.
He look'd, and faw a creature heavenly fair,
In bloom of youth, and of a charming air.
With joy he turn'd, and feiz'd her ivory arm;
And like Pygmalion found the ftatue warm.
Small arguments there needed to prevail,
A ftorm of kiffes pour'd as thick as hail.
Thus long in nutual blifs they lay embrac'd,
And their firft love continued to the laft:
One funfhine was their life, no cloud between ;
Nor ever was a kinder couple feen.

And fo may all our lives like theirs be led; Heaven fend the inaids young hufbands fresh in bed; May widows wed as often as they can,

And ever for the better change their man;
And fome devouring plague pursue their lives,
Who will not well be govern'd by their wives.

THE

T H E

CHARACTER

OF A

GOOD PARSON.

A Parish priest was of the pilgrim-train;

An awful, reverend, and religious man.

His eyes diffus'd a venerable grace,
And charity itself was in his face.

Rich was his foul, though his attire was poor
(As God had cloth'd his own ambassador);
For fuch, on earth, his blefs'd redeemer bore.
Of fixty years he feem'd; and well might last
To fixty more, but that he liv'd too fast ;
Refin'd himself to foul, to curb the fenfe;
And made almoft a fin of abftinence.
Yet, had his afpect nothing of fevere,
But fuch a face as promis'd him fincere.
Nothing referv'd or fullen was to see :
But fweet regards, and pleafing fanctity:
Mild was his accent, and his action free.
With eloquence innate his tongue was arm'd;
Though harsh the precept, yet the people charm'd.
For, letting down the golden chain from high,
He drew his audience upward to the sky:
And oft with holy hymns he charm'd their ears
(A mufic more melodious than the spheres):

}

For

For David left him, when he went to reft,
His lyre; and after him he sung the best.
He bore his great commiffion in his look:
But sweetly temper'd awe; and foften'd all he spoke.
He preach'd the joys of heaven, and pains of hell,
And warn'd the finner vith becoming zeal;
But on eternal mercy lov'd to dwell.

He taught the gospel rather than the law;

And forc'd himself to drive; but lov'd to draw.
For fear but freezes minds: 'but love, like heat,
Exhales the foul fublime, to feek her native feat,'
To threats the ftubborn finner oft is hard,
Wrapp'd in his crimes, against the ftorm prepar'd;
But, when the milder beams of mercy play,
He melts, and throws his cumbrous cloak away.
Lightning and thunder (heaven's artillery)
As harbingers before th' Almighty fly:
Those but proclaim his ftile, and disappear;
The ftiller found fucceeds, and God is there.
The tithes, his parifh freely paid, he took;
But never fued, or curs'd with bell and book.
With patience bearing wrong; but offering none:
Since every man is free to lofe his own.

The country churls, according to their kind,
(Who grudge their dues, and love to be behind),
The lefs he fought his offerings, pinch'd the more,
And prais'd a priest contented to be poor.

Yet of his little he had fome to fpare,

To feed the famifh'd, and to clothe the bare:

}

For

For mortify'd he was to that degree,

A poorer than himself he would not fee.

True priests, he faid, and preachers of the word,
Were only stewards of their sovereign lord ;
Nothing was their's; but all the public store :
Intrusted riches, to relieve the poor.

Who, fhould they feal, for want of his relief,
He judg'd himself accomplice with the thief.

Wide was his parish; not contracted close
In streets, but here and there a ftraggling houfe;
Yet ftill he was at hand, without request,

To ferve the fick; to fuccour the diftrefs'd:
Tempting, on foot, alone, without affright,
The dangers of a dark tempeftuous night.

All this, the good old man perform'd alone,
Nor fpar'd his pains; for curate he had none.
Nor durft he truft another with his care;
Nor rode himself to Paul's, the public fair,
To chaffer for preferment with his gold,
Where bishoprics and finecures are fold.
But duly watch'd his flock, by night and day;
And from the prowling wolf redeem'd the prey :
And hungry sent the wily fox away.

The proud he tam'd, the penitent he chear'd:
Nor to rebuke the rich offender fear'd.

His preaching much, but more his practice wrought
(A living fermon of the truths he taught);

For this by rules fevere his life he squar'd:
That all might fee the doctrine which they heard.

}

For

For priests, he faid, are patterns for the rest

(The gold of heaven, who bear the God impress'd) :
But when the precious coin is kept unclean,
The fovereign's image is no longer feen.
If they be foul on whom the people truft,
Well may the bafer brafs contract a ruft.

The prelate, for his holy life he priz'd;
The worldly pomp of prelacy defpis'd.
His Saviour came not with a gaudy show;
Nor was his kingdom of the world below.
Patience in want, and poverty of mind,

These marks of church and churchmen he defign'd,
And living taught, and dying left behind.
The crown he wore was of the pointed thorn :
In purple he was crucify'd, not born.
They who contend for place and high degree,
Are not his fons, but those of Zebedee.

Not but he knew the figns of earthly power
Might well become Saint Peter's fucceffor;
The holy father holds a double reign,

}

The prince may keep his pomp, the fifher must be plain. Such was the faint; who fhone with every grace, Reflecting, Mofes like, his Maker's face.

God faw his image lively was express'd;

And his own work, as in creation blefs'd.
The tempter faw him too with envious eye;
And, as on Job, demanded leave to try.
He took the time when Richard was depos'd,
And high and low with happy Harry clos'd.