And boast within a store of Knowledge,
Sufficient, bless us! for a College,
But take a prudent care, no doubt,
That not a grain shall straggle out;

And are of Wit too nice and fine,
To throw their Pearl and Gold to Swine;
And therefore, to prevent deceit,
Think every Man a Hog they meet.
These may perhaps as Scholars shine,
Who hang themselves out for a Sign.
What signifies a Lion's skin,

If it conceal an Ass within ?

If thou'rt a Lion, prithee roar:

If Ass-bray once, and stalk no more.
In Words as well as Looks be wise,
Silence is Folly in Disguise;

With so much Wisdom bottled up,
Uncork, and give your Friends a sup.

What need your nothings thus to save ?
Why place the Dial in the Grave?
A fig for Wit and Reputation,

Which sneaks from all Communication.

So in a post-bag, cheek by jole,

Letters will go from pole to pole,
Which may contain a wond'rous deal;
But then they travel under seal,

And though they bear your Wit about,

Yet who shall ever find it out,

Till trusty Wax forgoes it's use,
And sets imprison'd meaning loose?
Yet idle Folly often deems

What Man must be from what He seems;
As if, to look a dwelling o'er,

You'd go no farther than the Door.

Mark yon round Parson, fat and sleek, Who preaches only once a Week, Whom Claret, Sloth, and Ven'son join To make an orthodox Divine ; Whose Holiness receives it's beauty' From Income large, and little Duty;

Who loves the Pipe, the Glass, the Smock, And keeps a Curate for his Flock.

The world, obsequious to his nod,

Shall hail this oily man of God,

While the poor Priest, with half a score

Of prattling Infants at his Door,
Whose sober Wishes ne'er regale
Beyond the homely jug of Ale,
Is hardly deemed companion fit
For Man of Wealth, or Man of Wit,

Though learn'd perhaps and wise as He
Who signs with staring S. T. P.

And full of sacerdotal Pride,

Lays God and Duty both aside.

"This Curate, say you, learn'd and wise!
"Why does not then this Curate rise ?”
This Curate then, at forty-three,
(Years which become a Curacy)
At no great mart of Letters bred,
Had strange odd notions in his head,
That Parts, and Books, and Application,
Furnish'd all means of Education;
And that a pulpiteer should know
More than his gaping flock below;
That Learning was not got with pain,
To be forgotten all again;

That Latin words, and rumbling Greek,
However charming sounds to speak,
Apt or unapt in each Quotation,
Were insults on a Congregation,
Who could not understand one word
Of all the learned stuff they heard;
That something more than preaching fine,
Should go to make a sound divine;
That Church and Pray'r, and holy Sunday,
Were no excuse for sinful Monday;
That pious doctrine, pious Life,

Should both make one, as Man and Wife.

Thinking in this uncoinmon Mode,
So out of all the priestly road,

What Man alive can e'er suppose,
Who marks the way PREFERMENT goes,
That she should ever find her way
To this poor Curate's house of clay?

Such was the Priest, so strangely wise!
He could not bow-How should He rise?
Learned He was, and deeply read;

-But what of that ?-not duly bred.
For He had suck'd no Grammar rules
From Royal founts, or Public schools,
Nor gain'd a single Corn of Knowledge
From that vast Granary-a College.
A Granary, which food supplies.
To vermin of uncommon Size.

Aye, now indeed the Matter's clear,
There is a mighty error here.
A public School's the place alone,
Where Talents may be duly known.
It has, no doubt, it's imperfections,

But then, such Friendships! such connections!
The Parent, who has form'd his Plan,
And in his Child consider'd Man,

What is his grand and golden Rule,

"Make your connections, Child, at School.

"Mix with your Equals, fly inferiors,
"But follow closely your Superiors,
"On Them your ev'ry Hope depends,
"Be prudent, Tom, get useful Friends;
"And therefore like a spider wait,
"And spin your Web about the Great.
"If my Lord's Genius wants supplies,

Why You must make his Exercise.
"Let the young Marquis take your Place,
"And bear a whipping for his Grace.
"Suppose (such Things may happen once)
"The Nobles Wits, and You the Dunce,

Improve the means of Education, "And learn commodious Adulation. "Your Master scarcely holds it sin, "He chucks his Lordship on the Chin, "And would not for the World rebuke,

Beyond a pat, the school-boy Duke. "The Pastor there, of - what's the Place?

"With smiles eternal in his face,

"With dimpling cheek, and snowy hand,

"That shames the whiteness of his band;

"Whose mincing Dialect abounds

"In Hums and Hahs, and half-form'd sounds;

"Whose Elocution, fine and chaste,

"Lays his commainds with Judgment vaist;