Glass, out of deep, and out of desp'rate want,
Turn'd from a Papist here a Predicant.
A vicarage at last Tom Glass got here,
Just upon five and thirty pounds a year.
Add to that thirty-five but five pounds more,
He'll turn a Papist, ranker than before.
Upon Glass. Epig
Robert Herrick
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Poem topics: deep, year, glass, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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