What need your nothings thus to fave?
Why place the Dial in the Grave?
A fig for Wit and Reputation,
Which sneaks from all Communication.
So in a post-bag, cheek by jole,
Letters will go from pole to pole,
Which may contain a wond'rous deal;
But then they travel under seal,
And though they bear your Wit about,
Yet who fhall ever find it out,
Till trufty Wax forgoes its ufe,
And sets imprison'd meaning loose?
Yet idle Folly often deems
What Man must be from what He feems;
As if, to look a dwelling o'er,
You'd go no farther than the Door,
Mark yon round Parson, fat and sleek,
Who preaches only once a Week,
Whom Claret, Sloth, and Ven'son join
To make an orthodox Divine;
Whose Holiness receives its beauty
From Income large, and little Duty;
Who loves the Pipe, the Glass, the Smock,
And keeps a Curate for his Flock.
The world, obfequious to his nod,
Shall hail this oily man of God,
While the poor prieft, with half a score
Of prattling infants at his Door,
Whose fober Wishes ne'er regale
Beyond the homely jug of Ale,
Is hardly deem'd companion fit
For Man of Wealth, or Man of Wit,
Though learn'd perhaps and wife as He
Who figns with staring S. T. P.
And full of facerdotal Pride,
Lays God and Duty both afide,
"This Curate, fay you, learn'd and wife? 66 Why does not then this Curate rise?
This Curate then, at forty-three,
(Years which become a Curacy)
At no great mart of Letters bred,
Had ftrange odd notions in his head,
That Parts, and Books, and Application,
Furnish'd all means of Education;
And that a pulpiteer fhould know
More than his gaping flock below;
That Learning was not got with pain,
To be forgotten all again ;
That Latin words, and rumbling Greek,
However charming founds to speak,
Apt or unapt in each Quotation,
Were infults on a Congregation,
Who could not understand one word
Of all the learned ftuff they heard;
That something more than preaching fine,
Should go to make a found divine;
That Church and Pray'r, and holy Sunday,
Were no excufe for finful Monday;
That pious doctrine, pious Life,
Should both make one, as Man and Wife.
Thinking in this uncommon Mode,
So out of all the priestly road,
What Man alive can e'er fuppofe,
Who marks the way PREFERMENT goes,
That she should ever find her way
To this poor Curate's house of clay?
Such was the Priest, so strangely wise ! He could not bow How fhould He rife? Learned He was, and deeply read;
For he had fuck'd no grammar rules
From Royal founts, or Public schools,
Nor gain'd a fingle Corn of Knowledge
From that vaft Granarya College.
A Granary, which food supplies
To vermin of uncommon Size.
Aye, now indeed the Matter's clear,
There is a mighty error here.
A public school's the place alone,
Where Talents may be duly known.
It has, no doubt, its imperfections,
But then, fuch Friendships! fuch connections!
The Parent, who has form'd his Plan,
And in his Child confider'd Man,
What is his grand and golden Rule,
"Make your connections, Child, at School.
"Mix with your Equals, fly inferiors,
"But follow closely your Superiors,
"On Them your ev'ry Hope depends,
"Be prudent, Tom, get ufeful Friends;
"And therefore like a fpider wait,
"And fpin your Web about the great.
"If my Lord's Genius wants fupplies,
"Why You must make his Exercise.
"Let the young Marquis take your Place,
"And bear a whipping for his Grace.
"Suppofe (fuch Things may happen once)
The Nobles Wits, and You the Dunce,
Improve the means of Education, "And learn commodious Adulation. "Your Master scarcely holds it fin, "He chucks his Lordship on the Chin, "And would not for the World rebuke, "Beyond a pat, the school-boy Duke. "The Paftor there, of
"With fmiles eternal in his Face,
"With dimpling cheek, and fnowy hand, "That fhames the whiteness of his band; "Whose mincing Dialect abounds
"In Hums and Hahs, and half-form'd founds; "Whofe Elocution, fine and chafte, "Lays his commainds with Judgment vaist ; "And left the Company should hear, "Whispers his Nothings in your Ear, "Think you 'twas Zeal, or Virtue's Care "That placed the fmirking Doctor there. "No-'twas Connections form'd at School "With fome rich Wit, or noble Fool, "Obfequious Flattery, and Attendance, "A wilful, ufeful, bafe dependance; "A fupple bowing of the Knees "To any human God you please. "(For true good-breeding's fo polite, " "Twould call the very Devil white)
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