(17)
⟨Content.⟩ The clergy ſay, they love me well;
Whether they do, they beſt can tell:
They paint me modeſt, friendly, wiſe,
And always praiſe me to the ſkies;
⟨But⟩ if conviction's at the heart,
Why not a correſpondent part?
⟨For⟩ ſhall the learned tongue prevail,
⟨Of⟩ actions preach a diff'rent tale?
Who'll ſeek my door, or grace thy walls,
When neither dean nor prelate calls?
With thoſe my friendſhips moſt obtain,
Who prize their duty more than gain;
⟨Soft⟩ flow the hours whene'er we meet,
And conſcious virtue is our treat;
Our harmleſs breaſts no envy know,
And hence we fear no ſecret foe,
Our walks ambition ne'er attends,
And hence we aſk no pow'rful friends;
We wiſh the beſt to church and ſtate,
But leave the ſteerage to the great;
Careleſs, who riſes, or who falls,
And never dream of vacant ſtalls;
Much leſs by pride or int'reſt drawn,
Sigh for the mitre, and the lawn.
Obſerve the ſecrets of my art,
I'll fundamental truths impart:
And if you'll my advice purſue,
I'll quite my hut and dwell with you.
