Classic Poem

Here lies an odd mortal of noble descent,
Who never thro' modes of politenesses went,
Who liv'd in his country, and follow'd his sport,
Was stranger to all the intrigues of a court:
Ne'er was under the hands of a maitre de dance ,
Nor travell'd , and brought home the fopp'ries of France ;
Old England he thought was a mighty good place,
Lov'd his pudding and beef, and always had grace ,
Which the PARSON pronounc'd as a fee for his dinner,
After banging the cushion, to mend a poor sinner.
The religion and faith of his rural abode,
Was friendship to man , and devotion to God;
He honour'd the Bible , and once a week read it,
Kept his word, and did nothing to forfeit his credit.
His study consisted of books to cure horses ,
And of doctors prescriptions in love's wanton courses;
For he knew dames of pleasure took country air,
And by chance that a nymph of the TOWN might be there.

His estate , no rich clarets nor wines could afford,
But with Beer made his neighbour as drunk as a lord,
It was special good stuff , in October was born,
And with nutmeg and toast , was the feast of the morn;
Its perfections were seen, in his rich ruby face,
Its ill qualities, gallop'd away in a CHACE ;
His times knew no slip-slops of coffee or tea ,
So from vapours and cholic he always was free.
From his politicks no disaffection could spring,
For the health after dinner, was church and the king .
But after the meat and the cloth took away,
And the ladies were gone , in his TOASTS would be GAY ;
For the ladies sometimes with the squire would dine,
To whom in th' address of those days he would shine ,
In his WAY he was CLEVER , and what I'll say more ,
No clamorous creditors troubled his door;
He hated a dun , never had the disgrace
Of tradesmen unsatisfied seen in his place.
In the main he liv'd well, with the world he dy'd even,
And I hope we shall meet Mr. Hastings in heaven.