Clergyman's

“A daring pilot in extremity;”

— Pleas'd with the danger, when the waves went highHe sought the storms; but for a calm unfit,Would steer too nigh the sands, to boast his wit.Great wits are sure to madness near alli'd;And thin partitions do their bounds divide:Else, why should he, with wealth and honour blest,Refuse his age the needful hours of rest?Punish a body which he could not please;Bankrupt of life, yet prodigal of ease?And all to leave, what with his toil he wonTo that unfeather'd, two-legg'd thing, a son:Got, while his soul did huddled notions try;And born a shapeless lump, like anarchy.- John Dryden