Classic Poem

To preach at R — — g B — — n came;
The Hearers' Hearts were in a Flame — —
Such Talents ought not to be hid!
That we should miss 'em — — God forbid!
No — — we'll engage him here for Life;
Let G — — r's Waggon fetch his Wife — —
His Goods — ne'er mind-what he may want,
Friends, we can do no less than grant.

New Coat, new Band, new flaxen Wig,
Make him next Sunday look so big!
Still more the Sisters' Hearts he moves — —
Lord, how the Gentleman improves!
Ordain him, Neighbours, out of Hand;
Nor dare the Voice of Heav'n withstand!

'Tis done — — The London Elders meet,
And dub their Brother Priest compleat;
Who now omits no Means, to prove
Himself commission'd from above — —
Learns with an Air a Text to box,
And Hetero — to make Ortho-dox :
Fathers and Sons by turns he teaches;
And says In Speech , as well as preaches:
Is follow'd, honour'd, and obey'd;
And, what's the Soul of all, well pay'd.

Riches get Pride, and Pride gets Wars — —
( So Vincent's Almanack declares)
'Tis too familiar to enquire
The Station of their Teacher's Sire;
Nor will Sir Rev'rend condescend
To tell, downright, the nearest Friend:
Yet, when Discourse may glance that Way,
He keeps the Subject still in play;
And hints obliquely, all he can,
That somewhere he was some great Man .

Thus Matters went — — when Sunday came,
The Face of Things was still the same — —
The Pastor deals his Food — — the Sheep
Attend, half weeping, half asleep:
Blest with Stupidity profound,
And taught to trudge in one dull Round.

But there's a Youth (what Pity 'tis
There should be such a Youth as this!)
Who buys old Books, sets up a Nights,
Reads, talks, disputes, and Verses writes.
Sad Case! This John (so was he nam'd)
To speak it out was not asham'd,
How B — — n pleas'd him such a Day;
And when he came disturb'd away:
Yet many pious Men prefage
This Lad will edifie the Age:
They see a Teacher in his Face,
Adorn'd with ev'ry Gift and Grace.

Soon as the Story reach'd his Ears,
(So formidable John appears)
Our doughty Doctor apprehends
Such Words may influence the Friends:
Ev'n now he thinks his Int'rest sinking,
(Things John was far enough from thinking)
Fears 'twill conclude in his Disgrace,
And John 's Promotion to the Place.

The Parson fears — — Are Parsons idle,
When People seem to bite the Bridle?
Do they with Meekness use to bear
The distant Object of their Fear?
Far from it — — — John must be remov'd,
And all who favour him reprov'd.
No Time to lose — — a Show of Truth
Must first engage th' incautious Youth.
Mary, to John at Freeman's go ,
I'd gladly speak a Word — or so.

The Servant goes — — — the Youth obeys,
B — — — n grows lavish in his Praise.
For the great Work design'd by Heav'n,
Else why those fine Endowments giv'n?
So young, 'twas wond'rous he could speak
So much good Latin, so much Greek!
None fitter for the Churches use,
Permit but him to introduce.

This Part secure, the other Side
With equal Art must now be ply'd:
Here all his Learning he employs
Against encouraging such Boys —
What under Twenty? 'tis too young!
Besides, he wants the Latin Tongue!
And he's so stupid, I discern it,
He'd not be capable to learn it
From Fifteen Years to Five and Forty — — —
So, good my Friends, let me dehort ye!
Think such a Fellow can improve ye?
He'll sooner make a Babel of ye !

It makes a Story pass on dully,
To tell Particulars too fully.
The Parson plots, the Youth perceives it,
Dislikes his native Place, and leaves it.
Puts on clean Shirt, and Sunday's Suit;
So tramps it up to Town on Foot:
Chagrin'd in Mind, and poor in Purse,
What Circumstances could be worse?

Establish'd in so warm a Nest,
Think how elate the Victor Priest!
Well educated, highly born,
He swells, and treats Mankind with Scorn:
Nor further Trouble fears to know
From an expell'd, degraded Foe.

Our Pilgrim Youth, opprest with Care,
No Means of Life, no Prospect near;
Upon the Road, it has been said,
To Goddess Nemesis he pray'd — —
But John's a sounder Christian far,
Than by such Pagan Ways to err — — —
Some better Power, in whom his Trust is,
Remark'd, and thus repay'd th' Injustice.

'Tis no great Miracle old Shoes
In forty Miles their Heels should lose — — —
This was the Case — — thus John arriv'd
Perceiv'd his Calceaments depriv'd.
The Loss his weary Feet distrest,
Yet onward thro' the Croud he press'd,
'Till near his destin'd Place of Rest.

Where tatter'd Garments wave on high
He found a Stall, and, sitting by,
Bade Crispin the Defect supply.
For Two-pence Master I proceed,
You'll have them instantly — — — Agreed —

John views the Cobler o'er and o'er — —
Have I not seen this Face before?
I'm sure the Features are the same — — —
Pray, Father, what may be your Name?
My Name Sir's B — n, Friend, I know
The Name right well, quoth John — Say so ?
Whom know you of it pray? A Teacher.
Where pray ? At R — d — g — As a Preacher ,
Pray do the People like him there?
The Cobler cry'd, with seeming Care —
Crispin, quoth John, excuse me this ,
He us'd me very much amiss;
Here take your Price — Low Crispin bow'd,
And sigh'd, and whisper'd out aloud,
Peter misuse you? don't say so Man —
I thought my Son would injure no Man .

Two Uses from this Story flow,
One Suits the High, and one the Low —

B — n is not the only A —
Who, rais'd by Fortune, Friends, or Brass,
Too soon forgetting whence he sprung,
Has liv'd to hear his Folly sung.

Like John , the injur'd often meet
Revenge — and all Revenge is sweet.