My barns are half unthatch'd, untyled my house; Lost by this fatal sickness all my cows:

See, there's the bill my late damn'd law-suit cost!
Long as the land contended for and lost :
Ev'n Ormond's head I can frequent no more,
So short my pocket is, so long the score;
At shops all round I owe for fifty things -
This comes of fetching Hanoverian kings.

PARSON.

I must confess the times are bad indeed:
No wonder, when we scarce believe our creed;
When purblind reason's deem'd the surest guide,
And heaven-born faith at her tribunal try'd ;
When all Church-power is thought to make men

slaves,

Saints, Martyrs, Fathers, all call'd fools and knaves

'SQUIRE.

Come, preach no more, but drink, and hold your

tongue:

I'm for the Church, but think the parson's

wrong.

PARSON.

See then! free-thinking now so rank is grown,
It spreads infection through each country town;
Deistick scoffs fly round at rural boards,

'Squires, and their tenants too, profane as lords,
Vent impious jokes on every sacred thing-

'SQUIRE.

Come, drink;

PARSON.

Here's to you then; to church and king

'SQUIRE.

Here's Church and king; I hate the glass should stand,

Though one takes tythes, and t'other taxes land.

PARSON.

Heaven with new plagues will scourge this sinful

nation,

Unless we soon repeal the Toleration,

And to the Church restore the Convocation.

'SQUIRE.

Plagues we should feel sufficient, on my word,
Starved by two houses, priest-rid by a third.
For better days we lately had a chance,

Had not the honest Plaids been trick'd by France.

PARSON.

Is not most gracious George our faith's defender? You love the Church, yet wish for the Pretender!

'SQUIRE.

Preferment, I suppose, is what you mean;
Turn Whig, and you, perhaps, may be a Dean:
But you must first learn how to treat your betters.
What's here? sure some strange news! a boy with
letters :

Oh, ho! here's one, I see, from parson Sly:

My reverend neighbour Squab being like to die, "I hope, if heaven should please to take him

hence,

"To ask the living wou'd be no offence."

PARSON.

Have you not swore that I shou'd Squab succeed? Think how for this I taught your sons to read;

How oft discover'd puss on new-plow'd land;
How oft supported you with friendly hand,
When I cou'd scarcely go, nor cou'd your wor-
ship stand.

'SQUIRE.

'Twas yours, had you been honest, wise, or civil; Now ev'n go court the Bishops, or the Devil.

PARSON.

If I meant any thing, now let me die;
I'm blunt, and cannot fawn and cant, not I,
Like that old Presbyterian Sly.

I am, you know, a right true-hearted Tory,
Love a good glass, a merry song or story.

'SQUIRE.

Thou art an honest dog, that's truth indeed—
Talk no more nonsense then about the creed.
I can't, I think, deny thy first request;
'Tis thine; but first a bumper to the best.

PARSON.

Most noble 'Squire, more generous than your wine, How pleasing's the condition you assign!

Give me the sparkling glass, and here, d'ye see, With joy I drink it on my bended knee:

Great Queen*, who governest this earthly ball,
And makes both kings and kingdoms rise and fall;
Whose wonderous power in secret all things rules,
Makes fools of mighty peers, and peers of fools;
Dispenses mitres, coronets, and stars;

Involves far distant realms in bloody wars,
Then bids the snaky tresses cease to hiss,

And gives them peace again-nay gav'st us this;
Whose health does health to all mankind impart,
Here's to thy much-lov'd health:-

(SUAIRE, rubbing his hands.)

With all my heart,

* Madam de Pompadour.