Letter to a Friend

You ask, my friend, whence comes this sudden flight
Of parting thus with husbandry outright?
What mean I by so strange a foolish whim,
Am I in earnest, or think you I but dream?
True, you may think so, but suspend, I pray,
Your judgment, till you hear what I can say.
I join with you that there is no great harm
In clergy-folks to hold a little farm.
But poverty's the scourge, and I can tell,
As dire a scourge as any out of Hell:
The farm indeed can furnish malt and meal,
But gentry must have more than cakes and ale.
There's wife, and sons, and daughters to maintain,
Sons must be bred, and daughters will be vain,
What signifies, that they can knit or spin?
There's twenty needs for all that they can win.
Thus one needs this, another she needs that,
Ribbons, and gloves, and lace, and God knows what.
As far as their own penny goes they pay,
When that is spent, they then must take a day,
" Papa will clear't; " they have no more to say.

You can't imagine how much I'm distrest,
There's not a day that I enjoy rest:
Except on that blest day the first in seven,
That day appointed, as it was in Heaven!
Then I'm myself: For when the gown goes on,
I'm no more Farmer, than, but Pres'ter John.
The folks with pleasure hear me sermonize,
And once a week I'm reckon'd learn'd and wise;
The pulpit brings me into people's favours,
And Sunday screens from creditors and cravers:
But Monday comes, of course, and then begins
A new week's penance for the last week's sins.
The mistress takes the morning by the top,
She must have tea and sugar, starch and soap,
Candles and hops, all which are now so dear,
I answer nothing, but am forc'd to hear.

In comes the ploughman with important brow,
" Well, Thomas lad, and what would you say now? "
" We're out of iron, the horses must be shod,
" The coulter needs a lay: " — " That's very odd;
" Go to the merchant " — " He has none come home, "
(I know the cause, but must conceal't from Tom,)
" Why, then, we'll get it somewhere else. " — " That's true,
" The pleugh needs claithing and must have it new,
" We cannot do without a foremost yoke,
" And t'other day the meikle stilt was broke. "
" Well I shall see about it. " — Tom goes out,
And I get clear of him for once about.

There's one knocks — " Is the minister within? "
The servant answers " yes, " and he comes in:
" Well, John, I'm glad to see you; howd' ye do? "
" I thank you, Parson, how goes all with you? "
" Sit down! what news? " — " Not much, the times are hard:
(I know what's coming now, and am prepar'd,)
" I've got a rub, I ne'er got any such. "
" I'm sorry for't, but hope it is not much. "
" Why, faith, a great deal, forty pounds and more,
I can assure you, will not clear the score: "
" What way? " — " By that damn'd rascal, Duncan Aire,
Losses like this must soon make merchants bare,
And force them many times to seek their own,
Sooner than otherwise they would have done. "
" Afflictions, John, you know will always be, — "
" The little trifle, Sir, 'twixt you and me, "
" Betty, bring in a drink — here's to you, John, "
" Your good health, Parson, " drinks and then goes on
I study all I can to ward the blow,
And try to shift the subject, but no — no;
What can I do, but tell how matters stand;
" I cannot pay you, — money's not at hand,
As soon's I can I'll do't, " — John in a huff,
Says, " Parson, fare ye well " — and so walks off.

Now I expect some ease, when, in a crack,
In comes a note, with Reverence on the back:
" Sir, times are bad, I know not what to do,
I'm in a strait, else had not troubled you,
Have sent you your account, which please peruse,
Errors excepted — hopes your kind excuse.
A draught comes on me, money must be got,
And I'll be ruined, if you send it not;
At any other time you may command,
And shall be serv'd with what I have in hand,
So, Sir, no more at present, but remains. "
This must be answered, so I rack my brains,
And fall to work, part argue, partly flatter,
Be't taken well or ill makes little matter;
Debtors must still be dungeons of good nature.
My Lord's officer comes next, with " Sir, I'm sent,
To warn you in to pay the Whitsun' rent:
The factor's angry, and bade tell you so,
That you're so long in paying what you owe,
Expects you will with speed provide the sum,
And be more punctual in time to come: "
I hing my head betwixt chagrin and awe,
For officers, you know, are limbs of law.

Thus farm and house demands come on together,
Both must be answer'd, I can answer neither;
I put them off till Lammas, Lammas comes,
Our vestry meets, and I get in my sums;
The half year's stipend makes a pretty show,
But twenty ways poor fifteen pounds must go:
Scarce one night does it in my coffers stay,
Like Jonah's gourd that wither'd in a day;
First come, first serv'd with me, is still the way;
Then for my Lord, whatever comes to pass,
My Lord must even wait till Martinmas:
Well, Martinmas a few weeks hence comes on,
As certainly it will: what's to be done?
Shoemakers, tailors, butchers, to be paid,
For shoes, and clothes, and meat, must all be had:
There's servants' fees, and forty things beside;
How then can fifteen pounds so far divide?
Why! we'll set through, and try another year,
The worst is but the worst, let's never fear;
My Lord, God bless him, is a gracious man,
And he can want awhile, if any can;
We'll sell some meal, perhaps, or spare a cow;
But what will be the case, if that wont do:
Why then I'll borrow! I have many a friend,
There's such and such a one, all rich, and surely kind;
Well they're applied to, and behold the end:
They all condole indeed, but cannot lend;
They're griev'd to see the minister in strait,
And fain would help him, but I come too late.
And, after trying every shift in vain,
The old distressful life returns again.
Would any friend advise me thus to bear
Repeated strokes like these, from year to year?
No! th' event, be what it will, prepar'd am I,
And now resolv'd another course to try:
Sell corn and cattle off; pay every man;
Get free of debt and duns as fast's I can:
Give up the farm with all its wants, and then,
Why even take me to the book and pen,
The fittest trade I find, for CLERGYMEN .
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