Classic Poem

To scorn this World (his Rival's Name)
The jealous Priest his Fair harangued.
Crys she, " The World'S a noble Aim,
" Scorn! — — better, Doctor, you were hang'd."

He urg'd, " Vows bid us World renounce,
" As much as Flesh or very Devil."
Miss frown'd — — then left him with a Bounce;
Nor dropt one parting Curtsy civil.

Dead! quoth the Clerk, — I read my Doom;
" Cruel! my Woes to make your Farce on
Rysbrack — — inscribe it on my Tomb;
" O World ! thou hast undone a Parson ."