While the town small-talk flows from lip to lip; Intrigues half-gather'd, conversation-scraps, Kitchen cabals, and nursery-mishaps), If the vast world may not some scene produce, Some state where your small talents might have use; Within seraglios you might harmless move, 'Mid ranks of beauty, and in haunts of love; There from too daring man the treasures guard, An easy duty, and its own reward; Nature's soft substitutes, you there might save From crime the tyrant, and from wrong the slave. But let applause be dealt in all we may, Our Priest was cheerful, and in season gay; His frequent visits seldom fail'd to please; Easy himself, he sought his neighbour's ease: To a small garden with delight he came, And gave successive flowers a summer's fame; These he presented, with a grace his own, To his fair friends, and made their beauties known, Not without moral compliment; how they "Like flowers were sweet, and must like flowers decay.' Simple he was, and loved the simple truth, Yet had some useful cunning from his youth; A cunning never to dishonour lent, And rather for defence than conquest meant; 'Twas fear of power, with some desire to rise, But not enough to make him enemies; He ever aim'd to please; and to offend Was ever cautious; for he sought a friend; Yet for the friendship never much would pay, Content to bow, be silent, and obey, And by a soothing suff'rance find his way. Fiddling and fishing were his arts: at times He alter'd sermons, and he aim'd at rhymes; And his fair friends, not yet intent on cards, Oft he amused with riddles and charades. Mild were his doctrines, and not one discourse But gain'd in softness what it lost in force: Kind his opinions; he would not receive An ill report, nor evil act believe; "If true, 'twas wrong; but blemish great or small Have all mankind; yea, sinners are we all." If ever fretful thought disturb'd his breast, If aught of gloom that cheerful mind oppress'd, It sprang from innovation; it was then He spake of mischief made by restless men: Not by new doctrines: never in his life Would he attend to controversial strife; For sects he cared not; " They are not of us, Nor need we, brethren, their concerns discuss; But 'tis the change, the schism at home I feel; Ills few perceive, and none have skill to heal: Not at the altar our young brethren read (Facing their flock) the decalogue and creed; But at their duty, in their desks they stand, With naked surplice, lacking hood and band: Churches are now of holy song bereft, And half our ancient customs changed or left; Few sprigs of ivy are at Christmas seen, Nor crimson berry tips the holly's green; Mistaken choirs refuse the solemn strain Of ancient Sternhold, which from ours amain Comes flying forth from aisle to aisle about, Sweet links of harmony and long drawn out." These were to him essentials; all things new He deemed superfluous, useless, or untrue: To all beside indifferent, easy, cold, Here the fire kindled, and the woe was told.