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nifter's own pocket, than lavished in hiring a corporation of pamphleteers to defend his conduct, and prove a kingdom to be flourishing in trade and wealth, which every particalar fubject (except thofe few already excepted) can lawfully fwear and by due experience knows to be a falfehood.

The

THE CHARACTER OF A GOOD PARSON,

A

Imitated from Chaucer.

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 hath cloth'd his own Ambaffador;)
For fuch on earth his blefs'd Redeemer bore.
Offixty years he feem'd; and well might laft
To fixty more, but that he liv'd too fast;
Refin'd himself to foul, to curb the sense;
And made almost a fin of abftinence.
Yet had his aspect nothing of severe,
But fuch a face as promis'd him fincere.
Nothing referv'd or fullen was to fee:
But fweet regards, and pleasing fanctity;
Mild was his accent, and his action free.
With eloquence innate his tongue was arm'd;
Tho' harsh, the precept yet the people charm'd.
For, letting down the golden chain on 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 David left him, when he went to reft,

His lyre; and after him, he fung the best.

He

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 heav'n, and pains of hell;
And warn'd the finner with 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,
Wrapt in his crimes, against the storm prepar'd;
But, when the milder beams of mercy play,
He melts, and throws his cumbrous cloak away.
Lightning and thunder (Heav'n's artillery)
As harbingers before th' Almighty fly:
Those but proclaim his ftyle, and disappear;
The ftiller found fucceeds, and God is there.

The tithes, his parish freely paid, he took;
But never fu'd, or curs'd with bell and book.
With patience bearing wrong; but off'ring 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 off'rings, 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 famish'd, and to clothe the bare:

}

For

Fot mortify'd he was to that degree,
A poorer than himself he wou'd not fee.

True priests, he said, and preachers of the word,
Were only stewards of their fov'reign Lord;
Nothing was theirs; but all the public store :
Intrufted riches, to relieve the poor;

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

Wide was his parish, not contracted clofe
In streets, but here and there a straggling house;
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 trust another with his care :
Nor rode himself to Paul's, the public fair,
To chaffer for preferment with his gold,
Where bishopricks and fine-cures are fold.
But duly watch'd his flock by night and day;
And from the prowling wolf redeem'd the prey,
And hungry fent the wily fox away

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

.

His

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 priefts, he faid, are patterns for the rest:
(The gold of heav'n, who bear the God imprefs'd :)
But when the precious coin is kept unclean,
The fov'reign image is no longer seen.
If they be foul, on whom the people trust,
Well may the bafer brafs contract a rust.

The prelate, for his holy life, he priz'd;
The worldly pomp of prelacy despis'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 design'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 thofe of Zebedee.

Not, but he knew the figns of earthly pow'r Might well become St 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.

F

God

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