To-day this Temple gets a Dean Of parts and fame uncommon, Us'd both to pray and to prophane, To serve both God and mammon. When Wharton reign'd a Whig he was; When Pembroke – that's dispute, Sir; In Oxford's time, what Oxford pleased, Non-con, or Jack, or Neuter. This place he got by wit and rhime, And many ways most odd, And might a Bishop be in time, Did he believe in God. Look down, St. Patrick, look, we pray, On thine own church and steeple; Convert thy Dean on this great day, Or else God help the people. And now, whene'er his Deanship dies, Upon his stone be graven, A man of God here buried lies, Who never thought of heaven.
Though the author has written a large Dedication, yet that being addressed to a Prince whom I am never likely to have the honour of being known to; a person, besides, as far as I can observe, not at all regarded or thought on by any of our present writers; and I being wholly free from that slavery which booksellers usually lie under to the…
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