A PARODY On the foregoing LINES, by a LADY, assuming the Name of LAURA

How happy is the country Parson's lot? Forgetting Bishops, as by them forgot; Tranquil of spirit, with an easy mind, To all his Vestry's votes he sits resign'd: Of manners gentle, and of temper even, He jogs his flocks, with easy pace, to heaven. In Greek and Latin, pious books he keeps; And, while his Clerk sings psalms, he—soundly sleeps. His garden fronts the sun's sweet orient beams, And fat church-wardens prompt his golden dreams. The earliest fruit, in his fair orchard, blooms; And cleanly pipes pour out tobacco's fumes. From rustic bridegroom oft he takes the ring; And hears the milk-maid plaintive ballads sing. Back-gammon cheats whole winter nights away, And Pilgrim's Progress helps a rainy day.