Here you will find the Poem An Apology To Dr. Clayton, Bishop Of Killala, And His Lady of poet Mary Barber
My Lord of Killala, I find to my Sorrow, I can't have the Honour I hop'd for, Tomorrow. But why I'm so wretched, my Friend must rehearse; For I never can write my Vexations in Verse. Disappointments are sent to poor Mortals to show, 'Tis in vain to expect to be happy below. Yet you've a fair Prospect, it must be confess'd, Who with Fortune, and Station, and Delia are bless'd; With Delia, whose Soul is so fitted for you, Who shares, with such Pleasure, the Good which you do; Who visits your See with far other Designs, Than conning your Rent--rolls, and raising your Fines. No longer let Rome her old Argument boast, That by Marriage the End of the Priesthood is lost; That, toil'd and entangled in Family Cares, The Clergy forget their celestial Affairs: For, had she known Delia, she must have confess'd, That the Church, in the Marriage of Prelates, was bless'd.
