I Lately saw, no matter where,
A parody, by Laura fair;
In which, beyond dispute, 'tis clear,
She means her country friend to jeer;
For, well she knows, her pleasing lays,
(Whether they banter me or praise,
Whatever merry mood they take)
Are welcome for their author's sake.

Tobacco vile, I never smoak,
(Tho' Laura loves her friend to joke)
Nor leave my flock all in the lurch,
By being lullaby'd in church;
But, change the word from clerk to priest,
Perhaps I lull my sheep to rest.

As for the table of Back gammon ,
'Tis far beyond the reach of Damon;
But, place right gammon on a table,
And then to play a knife — I'm able.

" How happy is my lot , " you say,
Because from Bishops far away!
Happy I am, I'll not deny,
But then it is when you are nigh;
Or gently rushes o'er my mind
Th' idea of the nymph refin'd;
In whom each grace and virtue meet,
That render woman-kind complete;
The sense, the taste, the lovely mien
Of Stella , pride of Patrick 's Dean .

O Laura! when I think of this,
And call you friend — 'tis greater bliss,
Than all the " fat church-wardens schemes , "
Which rarely " prompt my golden dreams , "
Yet, if the happiness, fair maid,
That sooths me in the silent shade,
Should, in your eye, appear too great,
Come, take it all — and share my fate!