Poems :: :: University of Virginia Library

A LETTER to a CLERGYMAN

Occasioned by a Report of his Patron's being made one of the Lords Commissioners of the Great Seal, 1756.

If fame, dear Mun! the truth reveals,
Your friend, the baron, has the seals,
With two compeers, his reverend brothers,—
Willes and Sir Eardly are the others.

Justice, who long had seen imprest
Her fairest image on his breast,
Plac'd him her substitute, to awe
The nation on her bench of law!
And now, to make her work complete,
Has thron'd him on her mercy-seat.

I'll hold you, Mun! an honest guinea,
That pest, ambition's busy in you;

You mind no more your little crops,
Nor ever ask the price of hops;
Nor grieve about such idle things
As half the trumps, and all the kings:
But, blest each night with objects brighter,
Behold a visionary mitre;
And see the verger near you stand
Majestic with his silver wand.

Well—if, as matters now foretel it,
It is your fate to be a prelate;
Tho', loth to lose the comic strain,
The song, and ev'ry mirthful vein,
Which oft have made me full of glee,
And kept my spirits up till three:
Yet, fond to see, when pray'rs begin,
E---d, thy heteroclite chin,
With all that venerable bush on,
Reposing on a velvet cushion;

I would the man of humour quit,
And think the bishop worth the wit.

But, hark you, L---r! as you mean
To be a bishop, or a dean,
And must, of course, look grave, and big,
I'd have you get a better wig:
You know full well when, cheek by jole,
We waited on his grace at Knowl;
Tho' that trim artist, barber Jackson,
Spent a whole hour about your caxon,
With irons hot, and fingers plastic,
To make it look ecclesiastic:
With all his pains, and combs, and care,
He scarce cou'd curl a single hair.

It wou'd be right too, let me tell you,
To buy a gown of new prunella;
And bid your maid, the art who knows,
Repair your cassock at the elbows.

Lord! what a sudden alteration,
Will wait on your exalted station!
Cawthorn, too proud a prince to flatter,
Who calls thee nought but Mun and L---r;
Will now put on a softer mien,
And learn to lisp out Mr. Dean;
Or, if you're made a mitred peer,
Humbly intreat your grace's ear.

Poor Adams too, will funk, and stare,
And trembling steal behind your chair:
Or else, with holy zeal addressing,
Drop on his knees, and ask your blessing.

And now, my worthy friend! ere yet
We read it in the next Gazette,
That Tuesday last a royal writ
Was sent by Secretary Pitt,
To all and singular the stalls
Prebendal in the church of Paul's,

Commanding them to choose and name
A bishop of unspotted fame;
And warmly recommending thee
As prelate of the vacant see:
It will not be amiss to know
Before-hand what you have to do.

First, as you'll want a grave divine
To wait upon you when you dine,
To guard your kitchen from disorders
And school the youths who come for orders;
Take not an academic saplin,
But, for your life, make S---n chaplain.
He's tall, and solemn, soft and sleek,
Well read in Latin, and in Greek;
A proper man to tell the clerum
About Eusebius, and St. Jerom:
And wou'd as soon a fiend embrace as
Give up a jot of Athanasius.

Then, as to what a bishop fleeces,
In procurations, fines, and leases,
And hoarding up a world of pelf,
You'll want no steward but yourself:
For, faith! your lordship has great skill in
The virtues of a splendid shilling;
And know, as well as Child and Hoare,
That two and two will make up four.

Two Bankers.