Upon a certain charitable Divine , who, upon a pious Pretence of enlarging his Church, rooted up the Dead in order to effect this salutary Purpose .

I.

By living Means, most griping Elves,
Scrape precious Pelf to Chest;
But this Divine more subtle grown,
Won't let the Dead take Rest.

II.

Mount but to C — ft — n 's tow'ring Hill,
My weeping Friends, behold,
The pious T* Y ** R brings to Light
Your Dead — for Thirst of Gold.