Take the writer, whose size both of body and mind,
Were much more gigantic, than common you'll find,
Whose brains were employ'd for the good of the age,
And perfect the language, you find in each page,
Whether out with his Rambler, you venture to roam,
Or stay with his Rasselas, shut up at home.
When tired of his numbers, I'd have you to name,
A Bishop of Ireland, recorded by fame,
Whose writings will ever be held in esteem,
By those who make sacred religion their theme.