Page:The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift, Volume 7.djvu/94

82 Observ'd a parson near Whitehall Cheapening old authors on a stall. Ihe priest was pretty well in case, And show'd some humour in his face; Look'd with an easy, careless mien, A perfect stranger to the spleen; Of size that might a pulpit fill, But more inclining to sit still. My lord (who, if a man may say 't, Loves mischief better than his meat) Was now dispos'd to crack a jest, And bid friend Lewis go in quest (This Lewis is a cunning shaver, And very much in Harley's favour) In quest who might this parson be, What was his name, of what degree; If possible, to learn his story, And whether he were whig or tory. Lewis his patron's humour knows, Away upon his errand goes, And quickly did the matter sift; Found out that it was doctor Swift; A clergyman of special note For shunning those of his own coat; Which made his brethren of the gown Take care betimes to run him down: No libertine, nor over nice, Addicted to no sort of vice, Went where he pleas'd, said what he thought; Not rich, but ow'd no man a groat: In state opinions à la mode, He hated Wharton like a toad, Had