And all his passions sunk in early ease;
Nor one so old has left this world of sin,
More like the being that he entered in.
THE CURATE.
ASK you what lands our Pastor tithes? - Alas!
But few our acres, and but short our grass:
In some fat pastures of the rich, indeed,
May roll the single cow or favourite steed;
Who, stable-fed, is here for pleasure seen,
His sleek sides bathing in the dewy green;