William Cowper

The priest he merry is, and blithe
Three-quarters of a year,
But oh! it cuts him like read more

The priest he merry is, and blithe
Three-quarters of a year,
But oh! it cuts him like a scythe
When tithing time draws near.

The mind, relaxing into needful sport,
Should turn to writers of an abler sort,
Whose wit well read more

The mind, relaxing into needful sport,
Should turn to writers of an abler sort,
Whose wit well managed, and whose classic style,
Give truth a lustre, and make wisdom smile.

And Satan trembles when he sees
The weakest saint upon his knees.

And Satan trembles when he sees
The weakest saint upon his knees.

I pity bashful men, who feel the pain
Of fancied scorn and undeserved disdain,
And bear the read more

I pity bashful men, who feel the pain
Of fancied scorn and undeserved disdain,
And bear the marks upon a blushing face,
OF needless shame, and self-impos'd disgrace.

And prate and preach about what others prove,
As if the world and they were hand and glove.

And prate and preach about what others prove,
As if the world and they were hand and glove.