"Tis he, the Nimrod of the neighb'ring lairs;
Save that his fcent is lefs acute than their's,
For perfevering chafe, and headlong leaps,
True beagle as the ftaunchest hound he keeps.
Charg'd with the folly of his life's mad fcene,
He takes offence, and wonders what you mean;
The joy the danger and the toil o'erpays—
"Tis exercise, and health, and length of days.
Again impetuous to the field he flies;

Leaps ev'ry fence but one, there falls and dies;
Like a flain deer, the tumbrel brings him home,
Unmifs'd but by his dogs and by his groom.

Ye clergy; while your orbit is your place, Lights of the world, and stars of human race; But, if eccentric ye forfake your sphere, Prodigies ominous, and view'd with fear. The comet's baneful influence is a dream; Your's real, and pernicious in th' extreme. What then! -are appetites and lufts laid down, With the fame ease that man puts on his gown? Will av'rice and concupifcence give place,

Charm'd by the founds-Your Rev'rence, or Your

Grace?

No. But his own engagement binds him faft;
Or, if it does not, brands him to the laft,
What atheists call him-a defigning knave,
A mere church juggler, hypocrite, and slave.
Oh, laugh or mourn with me the rueful jeft,
A caffock'd huntsman and a fiddling priest!
He from Italian fongfters takes his cue:
Set Paul to music, he shall quote him too.
He takes the field. The mafter of the pack
Cries-Well done, faint! and claps him on the
back.

Is this the path of fanctity? Is this

To ftand a way-mark in the road to bliss?
Himself a wand'rer from the narrow way,
His filly sheep, what wonder if they stray?
Go, caft your orders at your bishop's feet,
Send your difhonour'd gown to Monmouth-ftreet!
The facred function in your hands is made-
Sad facrilege!-no function, but a trade!
Occiduus is a pastor of renown,

When he has pray'd and preach'd the fabbath down,
With wire and catgut he concludes the day,

Quav'ring and femiquav'ring care away.