The New Vicar of Bray

DO you know Doctor Nott?

With "a crook in his lot,"

Who seven years since tried to dish up

A neat Codi_cil_

To the Princess's Will,

Which made Dr. Nott _not_ a bishop.

So the Doctor being found

A little unsound

In his doctrine, at least as a teacher,

And kicked from one stool

As a knave or a fool,

He mounted another as preacher.

In that Gown (like the Skin

With no Lion within)

He still for the Bench would be driving;

And roareth away,

A new Vicar of _Bray_,

Except that _his bray_ lost his living.

"Gainst Freethinkers," he roars,

"You should all block your doors

Or be named in the Devil's indentures:"

And here I agree,

For who e'er would be

A Guest where old Simony enters?

Let the Priest, who beguiled

His own Sovereign's child

To his own dirty views of promotion,

Wear his Sheep's cloathing still

Among flocks to his will,

And dishonour the Cause of devotion.

The Altar and Throne

Are in danger alone

From such as himself, who would render

The Altar itself

But a step up to Pelf,

And pray God to pay his defender.

But, Doctor, one word

Which perhaps you have heard

"He should never throw stones who has windows

Of Glass to be broken,

And by this same token

As a sinner, you can't care what Sin does.

But perhaps you do well:

Your own windows, they tell,

Have long ago sufferéd censure;

Not a fragment remains

Of your character's panes,

Since the Regent refused you a glazier.

Though your visions of lawn

Have all been withdrawn,

And you missed your bold stroke for a mitre;

In a very snug way

You may still preach and pray,

And from bishop sink into backbiter!"