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O happy Monarch, fent by Heav'n to bless
A Salvage Nation with foft Arts of Peace,

To teach Religion, Rapine to restrain,
Give Laws to Lust, and Sacrifice ordain:
Himself a Saint, a Goddess was his Bride,
And all the Muses o'er his Acts preside.

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THE

CHARACTER

OF A

GOOD PARSON;

Imitated from CHAUCER, and Inlarg’d.

Parish-Priest was of the Pilgrim-Train;
An Awful, Reverend, and Religi.

ous Man.

His Eyes diffus'd a venerable Grace, And Charity it self was in his Face. Rich was bis Soul, though his Attire was poor; (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 liy'd too fast;

Refin'd himself to Soul, to curb the Sense;
And made almost a Sin of Abstinence.
Yet, had his Afpe&t nothing of severe,
But such a Face as promis’d him sincere.
Nothing reserv'd or fullen was to see:
But sweet Regards; and pleasing Sanctity:
Mild was his Accent, and his Action free.
With Elaquence innate his Tongue was arm’d;
Tho’harsh the Precept, yet the Preacher charm’d.

For, letting down the golden Chain from high, į He drew his Audience upward to the Sky:

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 fung the best.
He bore his great Commission in his Look:
Butsweetly temper'dAwe; and softned all he spoke.
He preach'd theJoys 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:
And forc'd himself to drive ; but lov'd to draw..

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**

For Fear but freezes Minds; but Love,like Heat, Fxbales 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;
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:
Thofe but proclaim his Stile, and disappear;
The stiller Sound succeeds; and God is there.

The Tythes, his Parith 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.
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 some to spare,
To feed the Familh'd, and to cloath the Bare:
For Mortify'd he was, to that degree,
A poorer than himself he wou'd not see.

True

2017

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True Priests; he said, and Preachers of the Word;

Were only Stewards of their Sov'raign Lord; Ets Nothing was theirs ; but all the publick Store: pret Intrusted Riches, to relieve the Poor.

Who, slou’d they steal, for want of his Relief;
He judg’d himself Accomplice with the Thief.

Wide was his Parish; not contracted close
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, álone, without affright;
The Dangers of a dark tempestuous Night.

All this, the good old Mani perform'd alone)
Nor spar'd his Pains ; for Curate hé 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,
Where Bishopricks and fine Cures are fold:
Büt 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.

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