Bred to the Church, and for the gown decreed, Ere it was known that I should learn to read; Tho' that was nothing, for my Friends, who knew What mighty Dullness of itself could do, Never design'd me for a working Priest, But hoped I should have been a DEAN at least; Condemn'd (like many more and worthier men To whom I pledge the service of my pen) Condemn'd (whilst proud and pamper'd Sons of Lawn, Cramm'd to the throat, in lazy plenty yawn) In pomp of rev'rend begg'ry to appear, To pray, and starve on forty pounds a-year; My Friends, who never felt the galling load, Lament that I forsook the Packhorse road, Whilst Virtue to my conduct witness bears, In throwing off that gown which FRANCIS wears.
