That Village is perfectly under command,
When the Justice and Rector will go hand in hand;
Their power o'er the peasant can ne'er be shut out,
When jointly these two toss the bottle about.

But when it shall happen the two disagree,
Ill-nature, retorts, and returns, you may see.
The Peasants alarm'd will begin to take sides;
The plague becomes pow'rful--the village divides.

Then take this advice--you no farther need seek,
Let the 'Squire and the Parson get drunk once a week;
When into their breast they've transported the barrel,
Let the Priest and the Magistrate then shun a quarrel.

A Rector of Pride, and a Justice of Peace,
(With sentiments high, they could ne'er coalesce)
Met point-blank together, one day, on the road,
Though the ground each detested the other had trod.

'So, Sir,' says the Justice, 'you ride a fine horse;
Won't follow your master, who rode something worse;
For he, though divine, on a jack-ass we view;
Methinks the same animal might have serv'd you.'

'I own,' says the Parson, 'your judgment is good,
Like our Saviour, I'd ride on an ass, if I cou'd;
But none I can purchase, so riding must cease,
Because every ass is a Justice of Peace.'