The 'Squire and the Parson. an Eclogue

By his hall chimney, where in rusty grate Green faggots wept their own untimely fate, In elbow-chair the pensive 'Squire reclin'd, Revolving debts and taxes in his mind: A pipe just fill'd, upon a table near Lay by the London Evening stain'd with beer, With half a bible, on whose remnants torn Each parish round was annually forsworn. The gate now claps, as Evening just grew dark, Tray starts, and with a growl prepares to bark; But soon discerning with sagacious nose The well known savour of the Parson's toes, Lays down his head, and sinks in soft repose: The Doctor entering, to the tankard ran, Takes a good hearty pull, and thus began: