Classic Poem

The Country Parson turn'd in Years,
Is neither plagu'd with Hopes or Fears,
But undisturbed in Study pent,
Or is or would be thought content;
In sullen Contemplation sits,
Pities the Bishops, rails at Wits.
" None (says old Crape ) would cringe and fawn,
For Silver Verge or Sleeves of Lawn;
Or lordly Pow'r ambitious seek,
Could they their Fast, as we do, break,
And dine on Pie, as Parsons must,
Made of Tithe-Apples and plain Crust.
They need not then be hurry'd down
To Kensington and Windsor Town,
As often as the Court thinks fit
To change the Air, and starve the Cit.
This House and Glebe my Wishes crown,
And what I have I call my own;
I would depend on no Man's Gift,
Nor do I envy Dr S — ft ."
But then how nat'ral to reply,
" You hate the Court, good Reason why,
Love Poverty and Rural Ease,
Because you want the Art to please:
Could you at H ARLEY 's Table dine,
Taste ev'ry Dish, and choose your Wine,
Be deck'd with Scarf, and cloathd in Silk,
Farewel to Pie-Crust, Eggs and Milk."