IV.
That against my fair fame
You devise so much blame,
Cries the Priest, with a damn me, what care I?
Since the gravest Divine,
Tells a lie worse than mine,
When he cries, “Nolo Episcopari!”
V.
How wisely PITT, for different ends,
Can marshal his obedient friends!
When only time he wants, not sense,
MULGRAVE vents copious impotence.
If demi-falsehood must be tried,
By ROSE the quibbling task’s supply’d—
But for the more accomplish’d lie,
Who with meek PR—TT—MAN shall vie?
VI.
(PR—TT—MAN loquitur.)
Although, indeed, ’tis truly said,
The various principles of Trade
We are not very glib in;
Yet surely none will this deny,
Few know so well as PITT, or I,
To manufacture fibbing.
VII.
A horrible fib that a Priest should have told,
Seems to some people’s thinking excessively odd,
Yet sure there’s no maxim more certain or old,
Than “The nearer the Church still the farther from God.”
VIII.
Why should such malice at the Parson fly?
For though he spoke, he scorn’d to write, a lye.