Parson Gray

A quiet home had Parson Gray,
      Secluded in a vale;
  His daughters all were feminine,
      And all his sons were male.

How faithfully did Parson Gray
      The bread of life dispense—
  Well “posted” in theology,
      And post and rail his fence.

’Gainst all the vices of the age
      He manfully did battle;
  His chickens were a biped breed,
      And quadruped his cattle.

No clock more punctually went,
      He ne’er delayed a minute—
  Nor ever empty was his purse,
      When he had money in it.

His piety was ne’er denied;
      His truths hit saint and sinner;
  At morn he always breakfasted;
      He always dined at dinner.

He ne’er by any luck was grieved,
      By any care perplexed—
  No filcher he, though when he preached,
      He always “took” a text.

As faithful characters he drew
      As mortal ever saw;
  But ah! poor parson! when he died,
      His breath he could not draw!

Oliver Goldsmith.