Page:The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift, Volume 8.djvu/163

Rh The Chaplain vows, he cannot fawn, Though it would raise him to the lawn: He pass'd his hours among his books; You find it in his meagre looks: He might, if he were worldly wise, Preferment get, and spare his eyes: But owns, he had a stubborn spirit, That made him trust alone to merit: Would rise by merit to promotion; Alas! a mere chimerick notion. The Doctor, if you will believe him, Confess'd a sin; (and God forgive him!) Call'd up at midnight, ran to save A blind old beggar from the grave: But see how Satan spreads his snares; He quite forgot to say his prayers. He cannot help it for his heart Sometimes to act the parson's part: Quotes from the Bible many a sentence, That moves his patients to repentance; And, when his medicines do no good, Supports their minds with heavenly food; At which, however well intended, He hears the clergy are offended; And grown so bold behind his back, To call him hypocrite and quack. In his own church he keeps a seat; Says grace before and after meat; And calls, without affecting airs, His household twice a day to prayers. He shuns apothecaries shops, And hates to cram the sick with slops: He scorns to make his art a trade; Nor bribes my lady's favourite maid. Old