Observ'd a parson near Whitehall5
Cheapening old authors on a stall.
Ihe priest was pretty well in case,
And show'd some humour in his face;
Look'd with an easy, careless mien,
A perfect stranger to the spleen;10
Of size that might a pulpit fill,
But more inclining to sit still.
My lord (who, if a man may say 't,
Loves mischief better than his meat)
Was now dispos'd to crack a jest,15
And bid friend Lewis[1] go in quest
(This Lewis is a cunning shaver,
And very much in Harley's favour)
In quest who might this parson be,
What was his name, of what degree;20
If possible, to learn his story,
And whether he were whig or tory.
Lewis his patron's humour knows,
Away upon his errand goes,
And quickly did the matter sift;25
Found out that it was doctor Swift;
A clergyman of special note
For shunning those of his own coat;
Which made his brethren of the gown
Take care betimes to run him down:30
No libertine, nor over nice,
Addicted to no sort of vice,
Went where he pleas'd, said what he thought;
Not rich, but ow'd no man a groat:
In state opinions à la mode,35
He hated Wharton like a toad,
- ↑ Erasmus Lewis, esq. the treasurer's secretary.
