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Imitated from Chaucer and Inlarg’d
A PARISH-PRIEST 1 was of the Pilgrim-Train; | |
| An Awful, Reverend, and Religious Man. | |
| His Eyes diffus’d a venerable Grace, | |
| And Charity it self was in his Face. | |
| Rich was his Soul, though his Attire was poor; | 5 |
| (As God had cloath’d his own Embassador;) | |
| For such, on Earth, his bless’d Redeemer bore. | |
| Of Sixty Years he seem’d; and well might last | |
| To Sixty more, but that he liv’d too fast; | |
| Refin’d himself to Soul, to curb the Sense; | 10 |
| And made almost a Sin of Abstinence. | |
| Yet, had his Aspect nothing of severe, | |
| But such a Face as promis’d him sincere. | |
| Nothing reserv’d or sullen was to see, | |
| But sweet Regards; and pleasing Sanctity: | 15 |
| Mild was his Accent, and his Action free. | |
| With Eloquence innate his Tongue was arm’d; | |
| Tho’ harsh the Precept, yet the Preacher charm’d; | |
| For, letting down the golden Chain from high, | |
| He drew his Audience upward to the Sky: | 20 |
| And oft, with holy Hymns, he charm’d their Ears | |
| (A Musick more melodious than the Spheres.) | |
| For David left him, when he went to rest, | |
| His Lyre; and after him, he sung the best. | |
| He bore his great Commission in his Look: | 25 |
| But sweetly temper’d Awe, and soften’d all he spoke. | |
| He preach’d the Joys of Heav’n and Pains of Hell; | |
| And warn’d the Sinner with becoming Zeal; | |
| But on Eternal Mercy lov’d to dwell. | |
| He taught the Gospel rather than the Law: | 30 |
| And forc’d himself to drive; but lov’d to draw. | |
| For Fear but freezes Minds; but Love, like Heat, | |
| Exhales the Soul sublime, to seek her Native Seat. | |
| To Threats, the stubborn Sinner oft is hard, | |
| Wrap’d in his Crimes, against the Storm prepar’d; | 35 |
| But, when the milder Beams of Mercy play, | |
| He melts, and throws his cumb’rous Cloak away. | |
| Lightnings and Thunder (Heav’ns Artillery) | |
| As Harbingers before th’ Almighty fly: | |
| Those, but proclaim his Stile, and disappear; | 40 |
| The stiller Sound succeeds; and God is there. | |
| The Tythes, his Parish freely paid, he took; | |
| But never Su’d; or Curs’d with Bell and Book. | |
| With Patience bearing wrong; but off’ring none: | |
| Since every Man is free to lose his own. | 45 |
| The Country-Churles, according to their Kind, | |
| (Who grudge their Dues, and love to be behind,) | |
| The less he sought his Off’rings, pinch’d the more; | |
| And prais’d a Priest, contented to be Poor. | |
| Yet, of his little, he had some to spare, | 50 |
| To feed the Famish’d, and to cloath the Bare: | |
| For Mortify’d he was to that degree, | |
| A poorer than himself, he wou’d not see | |
| True Priests, he said, and Preachers of the Word, | |
| Were only Stewards of their Soveraign Lord, | 55 |
| Nothing was theirs; but all the publick Store, | |
| Intrusted Riches to relieve the Poor. | |
| Who, shou’d they steal, for want of his Relief | |
| He judg’d himself Accomplice with the Thief. | |
| Wide was his Parish; not contracted close | 60 |
| In Streets, but here and there a straggling House; | |
| Yet still he was at Hand, without Request | |
| To serve the Sick; to succour the Distress’d; | |
| Tempting, on Foot, alone, without affright, | |
| The Dangers of a dark, tempestuous Night. | 65 |
| All this the good old Man perform’d alone, | |
| Nor spar’d his pains; for Curate he had none. | |
| Nor durst he trust another with his Care; | |
| Nor rode himself to Pauls, the publick Fair, | |
| To chaffer for Preferment with his Gold, | 70 |
| Where Bishopricks, and sine Cures are sold. | |
| But duly watch’d his Flock, by Night and Day; | |
| And from the prowling Wolf, redeem’d the Prey, | |
| And hungry sent the wily Fox away. | |
| The Proud he tam’d, the Penitent he chear’d: | 75 |
| Nor to rebuke the rich Offender fear’d. | |
| His Preaching much, but more his Practice wrought; | |
| (A living Sermon of the Truths he taught;) | |
| For this by Rules severe his Life he squar’d: | |
| That all might see the Doctrin which they heard. | 80 |
| For Priests, he said, are Patterns for the rest: | |
| (The Gold of Heav’n, who bear the God Impress’d:) | |
| But when the precious Coin is kept unclean, | |
| The Soveraign’s Image is no longer seen. | |
| If they be foul, on whom the People trust, | 85 |
| Well may the baser Brass 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 gawdy Show, | |
| Nor was his Kingdom of the World below. | 90 |
| 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. | 95 |
| They who contend for Place and high Degree, | |
| Are not his Sons, but those of Zebadee. | |
| Not, but he knew the Signs of Earthly Pow’r | |
| Might well become St. Peter’s Successor; | |
| The Holy Father holds a double Reign, | 100 |
| The Prince may keep his Pomp; the Fisher must be plain. | |
| Such was the Saint; who shone with every Grace: | |
| Reflecting, Moses-like, his Maker’s Face. | |
| God saw his Image lively was express’d; | |
| And his own Work, as in Creation, bless’d. | 105 |
| The Tempter saw him too, with envious Eye, | |
| And, as on Job, demanded leave to try. | |
| He took the time when Richard was depos’d, | |
| And High and Low with happy Harry clos’d. | |
| This Prince, tho’ great in Arms, the Priest withstood, | 110 |
| Near tho’ he was, yet not the next of Blood. | |
| Had Richard unconstrain’d, resign’d the Throne, | |
| A King can give no more than is his own: | |
| The Title stood entail’d, had Richard had a Son. | |
| Conquest, an odious Name, was laid aside, | 115 |
| Where all submitted, none the Battle try’d. | |
| The senseless Plea of Right by Providence, | |
| Was, by a flatt’ring Priest, invented since: | |
| And lasts no longer than the present sway; | |
| But justifies the next who comes in play. | 120 |
| The People’s Right remains; let those who dare | |
| Dispute their Pow’r, when they the Judges are. | |
| He join’d not in their Choice; because he knew | |
| Worse might, and often did from Change ensue. | |
| Much to himself he thought; but little spoke: | 125 |
| And, Undepriv’d, his Benefice forsook. | |
| Now, through the Land, his Cure of Souls he stretch’d, | |
| And like a Primitive Apostle preach’d. | |
| Still Chearful; ever Constant to his Call; | |
| By many follow’d; Lov’d by most, Admir’d by All. | 130 |
| With what he beg’d, his Brethren he reliev’d; | |
| And gave the Charities himself receiv’d; | |
| Gave, while he Taught; and Edify’d the more, | |
| Because he shew’d by Proof, ’twas easy to be Poor. | |
| He went not, with the Crowd, to see a Shrine; | 135 |
| But fed us by the way, with Food divine. | |
| In deference to his Virtues, I forbear | |
| To show you, what the rest in Orders were | |
| This Brillant 2 is so Spotless, and so Bright, | |
| He needs no Foyl: But shines by his own proper Light. | 140 |
