Classic Poem

Yo nder your Author stands extreamly Ill,
And, yet of perfect Mind , thus makes his Will .
First, I bequeath my Soul , when I forsake it,
To him that has the truest Right to take it;
My Boly next, let me consider well,
It those that will convey it out of Smell:
My worldly Goods , altho' they are but few,
My Brother Poets , those I leave to you;
And were I sure that they'd accept of it,
The Rhyming Quality shou'd share my Wit:
To Daniel , and his Friend the Observator ,
I leave my Manuscripts , and Scottish Psalter ,
With all my Volumes that have scap'd my Bum ,
From the Wise Masters to the fam'd Tom Thumb .
Next I bequeath , (but let me recollect,
I fain wou'd something leave to ev'ry Sect )
To all our grave Divines , where e'er they be,
I leave them, what they want, my Charity ;
And to those Prelates that oppose the Bill ,
Were I secure, they wou'd not take it Ill,
To them and their Heirs I'd give and grant
My Model of the Godly Covenant .
The Presbyterians too I'd something give,
Tho' they're so rich I know not what to leave,
Besides, they're grown so very proud withal,
They won't accept of any Thing that's small;
And yet, methinks, 'tis fit that they shou'd have
Some Marks of my Remembrance in my Grave;
Among my Lumber they will Papers find,
Writ to inform the Realm what they design'd;
That they have them, it is my sole Intention ,
They'll be of Use against a Comprehension .
The Quakers too expect their Legacy ,
To those good Men I leave my Modesty ;
And let the other Sects , that I mayn't wrong'em,
Take my Religion and divide among 'em.
And to conclude , it is my Will and Mind ,
Some honest wealthy Cit would be so kind,
To see all this perform'd, and for his Pains,
To take for him, and for his Heirs , my Brains.