Poems on Several Occasions | ||
133
AN EPISTLE
TO An Irish Parson, of a small Benefice, resolved to live in London.
Heu! fuge crudeles terras, et littus avarum.
Virg.
Virg.
Since you're resolv'd, Dear Sir, t'abandon,
Our South-West Coast, and live in London;
There, in your Coach, to make a Figure,
(Your Purse and Belly ne'er the bigger)
Consider, well, th' important Step,
And Look, I pray, before you Leap.
Our South-West Coast, and live in London;
There, in your Coach, to make a Figure,
(Your Purse and Belly ne'er the bigger)
Consider, well, th' important Step,
And Look, I pray, before you Leap.
134
Supposing, then, Remitted clear
Three hundred Pounds, my Friend, a Year,
(A pretty! Income, near the Fort,
To make one easie, and thank God for't)
But, if I am not ill-instructed,
Exchange, on Bills, being first deducted;
The Proctor next, then Curate paid,
There is not so much to be had.
Deduct, too, Tyth of Pigs and Geese;
Some Fish some Eggs: and Things like these;
Which (with Book-Dues) I dare aver it,
Would pay your Annual Charge of Claret;
Three hundred Pounds, my Friend, a Year,
(A pretty! Income, near the Fort,
To make one easie, and thank God for't)
But, if I am not ill-instructed,
Exchange, on Bills, being first deducted;
The Proctor next, then Curate paid,
There is not so much to be had.
Deduct, too, Tyth of Pigs and Geese;
Some Fish some Eggs: and Things like these;
Which (with Book-Dues) I dare aver it,
Would pay your Annual Charge of Claret;
Suppose, again, then, which is true,
Instead of Three, but Hundreds Two:
Are you, so much, Sir, in the Dark yet,
To think this Sum will go to Market,
Twelve, Months; without your being undone,
Where every Thing's so dear, in London?
Where, it confounds the Deepest Sages,
To pay House-Rent and Servants Wages:
To lay in Coals, both small and great,
Which keep you warm, and dress your Meat:
Where great Estates away are swept,
By running in the Tradesmens Debt.
Instead of Three, but Hundreds Two:
Are you, so much, Sir, in the Dark yet,
To think this Sum will go to Market,
Twelve, Months; without your being undone,
Where every Thing's so dear, in London?
135
To pay House-Rent and Servants Wages:
To lay in Coals, both small and great,
Which keep you warm, and dress your Meat:
Where great Estates away are swept,
By running in the Tradesmens Debt.
Believe me, Sir, 'twill never do there:
Consider Baker first, then Brewer;
Pickles and Sawce, whene'er you Dine;
A Dram, and Glass or Two of Wine!
With thousand Taxes, they Amerce one,
To Starve the Poor, and Glut the Parson.
Consider Baker first, then Brewer;
Pickles and Sawce, whene'er you Dine;
A Dram, and Glass or Two of Wine!
With thousand Taxes, they Amerce one,
To Starve the Poor, and Glut the Parson.
Besides! your Friends make constant Sport on
Five-thousand Pounds! your English Fortune!
And say, in short, you're fairly Bit;
Had better ta'en an Irish Tit,
With half Five hundred; and staid here
To wake and sleep, secure; and cheer
Your Heart with cheap or unbought Food;
And save your Soul, By doing Good.
Five-thousand Pounds! your English Fortune!
And say, in short, you're fairly Bit;
Had better ta'en an Irish Tit,
With half Five hundred; and staid here
To wake and sleep, secure; and cheer
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And save your Soul, By doing Good.
Behold! the Pleasures of Kinsale!
French Claret! neat. Pure Irish Ale!
Fresh Fish! accounted so inviting!
From largest Cod, to smallest Whiteing.
And Turbot boil'd! Delicious Food!
And Turbot sous'd! so wondrous Good!
(Whence Mary will immortal be,
Whilst Turbots can be brought from Sea!)
Or Pilcher, in fresh Butter drest;
Or Pilcher dry'd; it-self a Feast!
Or freshest Eggs, with saltest Ling;
To pass by many other Thing;
French Claret! neat. Pure Irish Ale!
Fresh Fish! accounted so inviting!
From largest Cod, to smallest Whiteing.
And Turbot boil'd! Delicious Food!
And Turbot sous'd! so wondrous Good!
(Whence Mary will immortal be,
Whilst Turbots can be brought from Sea!)
Or Pilcher, in fresh Butter drest;
Or Pilcher dry'd; it-self a Feast!
Or freshest Eggs, with saltest Ling;
To pass by many other Thing;
And so I'll end my Irish Story,
Both Cases being laid before ye.
Both Cases being laid before ye.
Poems on Several Occasions | ||