The Works of Peter Pindar [i.e. John Wolcot] :: :: University of Virginia Library

Morning and Majesty get out of Bed together—A most solemn and pathetic Address to the Muse, with Respect to Omens—A serious Complaint against the Omens for their Non-appearance on so important an Occasion—The Wives and Daughters of the Cooks seek the Palace, to encourage their Husbands—A beautiful Comparison of Cocks and Hens—The Dismay of the Cooks—The natural History of Eyes—Mister Ramus enters the Kitchen—Mister Ramus is praised for Dexterity in shaving Majesty—Mister Ramus's Consequence with Majesty superior to that of great Ministers—Mister Ramus's namby-pamby name Billy, given by Majesty—The Dread occasioned by Mister Ramus's Appearance amongst the Cooks—Mister Secker, Clerk of the Kitchen, enters in a Passion—Mister Secker threatens tremendously—A Wife of one of the Cooks nobly answers Mister Secker, and vows Opposition—Mister Secker replies with Astonishment, Vociferation, and Threat—The Heroine's Rejoinder to Mister Secker, with much Sarcasm—Mister Secker groweth very wroth—studieth Revenge—Prudence appeareth to him, and administereth

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great and wholesome Advice—Prudence becalmeth the Clerk of the Kitchen—A second Heroine appeareth, speechifieth, and threateneth—slily alludeth to the immense Wealth of male Majesty, and the Heaps of Diamonds belonging to female Majesty—praiseth her Husband's Cleanliness, and denieth a Louse-Existence in his Head, and squinteth at Mister Secker as the probable Owner of the Animal—Mister Secker rageth a second Time—One of the finest Comparisons in the World, between Mister Secker in a Passion, and a Leg of Mutton and Turnips in the Pot—The Poet pauseth, moralizeth, and trembleth at that Devil, lately introduced to the World, called Equality, the Enemy of Majesty—Some of the sweetest Lines in the World on the Occasion—Prudence re-entereth to becalm Mister Secker, by clapping her Hand on his Mouth—An inexpressibly apt Bottle-of-small-beer Comparison—The Cook-major riseth in Wrath, and is very satirical on Mister Secker—The Clerk of the Kitchen replies with Intrepidity—A great deal of good company rushes into the Kitchen—Mister Secker commands Silence, and announces the Will of his Sovereign—the Sovereign eloquently announceth also his own will—A sweet and sublime Comparison, equal to any thing in Homer.

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With beauteous Lambert's blush, and Russel's smiles,
Aurora peep'd upon the first of Isles;
And, lo! to bleating flock, and whistling bird,
Uprose the sun, and uprose G. the Third,
Who left his queen so charming, and her room,
To talk of hounds and horses with the groom.
Say, Muse, what! not one cloud with low'ring looks,
To gloom compassion on the heads of cooks?
What! not one solitary omen sent;
Not one small sign, to tell the great event?
On Cato's danger, clouds of ev'ry shape
Hung on the firmament their dismal crape;
Aurora wept, poor girl, with sorrow big;
And Phœbus rose without his golden wig!
But now the skies their usual manners lost,
The sun and moon, and all the starry host!
No raven at the window flapp'd his wings,
And croak'd portentous to the cooks of kings;
No horses neigh'd, no bullocks roar'd so stout;
No sheep, like sheep be-devil'd, ran about;

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No lightnings flash'd, no thunder deign'd to growl;
No walls re-echo'd to the mournful owl;
No jackass bray'd affright; no ghost 'gan wall;
No comet threaten'd empires with his tail;
No witches, wildly screaming, rode the broom;
No pewter platters danc'd about the room.
Thus unregarded droop'd each menac'd head,
As though the omens all were really dead;
As unregarded (what a horrid slur!)
As though the monarch meant to shave a cur!

Now to the kitchen of the palace came
Full many a damsel sweet, and daring dame,
The wives and daughters of those cooks forlorn
Whose luckless heads were threaten'd to be shorn:
Ire in each eye, and vengeance in each hand,
To cheer their husbands, pour'd the boastful band!
Thus, when the ancient Britons rush'd to battle,
Their wives intrepid join'd the general rattle;
Encouraging their husbands in the fray,
For fear some pale-nos'd rogues might run away:
O glorious act!—repelling coward fear.—
Thus cocks fight bravest when the hens are near.

Now on the band of ladies star'd the cooks,
And seem'd to show hair-ruin in their looks.
Great is the eloquence of eyes indeed—
Much hist'ry in those tell-tale orbs we read!
What though no bigger than a button hole,
Yet what a wondrous window to the soul!
The bosom's joy, and grief, and hope, and fear,
In lively colours are depicted here!

Now to the crowded kitchen Ramus springs,
Ramus, call'd Billy by the best of kings;
Who much of razors and of soapsuds knows,
Well skill'd to take great Cæsar by the nose:
Much by his sovereign lov'd, a trusty page,
Who often puts great statesmen in a rage;
Poor lords! compell'd against their will to wait,
Though ass-like laden with affairs of state,

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Till page and monarch finish deep disputes
On buckskin breeches, or a pair of boots!

Billy, a pretty name of love so sweet,
Familiar, easy, for affection meet!
Thus formal Patrick is transform'd to paddy;
And father, by the children christen'd daddy:
And Oliver, who could e'en kings control,
By many a thousand is baptiz'd Old Noll.

Speak, reader, didst thou ever see a ghost?
If so—thou stoodest, staring like a post:
Thus did the cooks on Billy Ramus stare,
Whose frightful presence porcupin'd each hair.
Now enter'd Secker —and now thus he spoke:—
‘This Louse affair's a very pretty joke!
Arn't you asham'd of it, you dirty dogs?—
Zounds! have you all been sleeping with the hogs?
But mind—you'll be, to all your great delight,
Bald as so many coots before 'tis night.
No murmurs, gentlemen—'tis all in vain:
When monarchs order, who shall dare complain?
Now from the female band, a heroine rav'd,
‘G*d curse me, if my husband shall be shav'd!
You shan't, you shan't the fellow's head disgrace—
I say, the man shall sooner lose his place.
Wigs, like the very devil, I loath, I hate—
And curse me, if a nightcap hugs his pate.’—
‘How, impudence!’ the wrathful Secker cry'd,
With horror staring, and a mouth yard wide—
‘Where, where's my stick, my cane, my whip, my switch?’
‘Who taught rebellion t'ye, you saucy b---?
‘Myself,’ with hands akembow cry'd the dame—
‘I tell ye, Mister Secker, 'tis a shame—
I tell ye that the cooks will all be fools,
To suffer razors to come near their skulls.
Bitch too, forsooth the language of a hog!
If I'm a bitch, then somebody's a dog.’

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Now all th' internal man of Secker boil'd—
From thought to thought of turbulence he toil'd:
Now, resolution-fraught, he wish'd to stick her.
Now in her face to spit, and now to kick her.
But Prudence in that very moment came,
And sweetly whisper'd to the man of flame—
‘Fie, Secker! kick a woman! Secker, fie!
On matter more sublime, thy prowess try—
No glory springs from kicking wives of cooks.
Strive to surpass great kings in binding books;
Transcend great kings in forcing stubborn kine
To breakfast on horse chesnuts, sup, and dine;
In educating pigs, be thou as deep!
And learn, like kings, to feel the rumps of sheep.
Go, triumph at the market towns with wool:
Go, breed for lady-cows the bravest bull;
Tow'r o'er the scepter'd great in fat of lambs,
And rise a rival in the breed of rams.—
These be thine acts—from hence fair glory flows,
Whose beam, a bonfire round a monarch glows,
Surpass in charity towards the poor;
Nor bully starving merit from the door.
Behold, for patronage lean genius pant:
What though the wealthy great a taste may want,
Yet, would they cast their eyes on pining merit,
Those eyes would quickly warm her frozen spirit.
The fool may lift the mourner from the tomb,
And bid the buried seeds of genius bloom.
Yes, fools of Fortune, did those fools incline
To look on humble worth, might bid her shine:
Thus tallow candles in a chandelier,
Make the keen beauties of the glass appear,
Call into note a thousand trembling rays,
And share the merit of the mingled blaze.
The great should sun-like bid their treasures flow,
Whose beams wide-spreading no distinction know;
But equal bid the crab and pine be ripe;
And light at once a system and a pipe.’

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Thus Prudence spoke, when Secker to the dame
Confess'd his fault, and stopp'd the bursting flame.
Now storm'd a second heroine from the band,
Call'd Joan, and full at Secker made a stand—
‘I say, Tom shan't be shav'd—he shan't—he shan't,
Leek porridge, stir-about, we'll sooner want;
We'll rather hunt the gutters for our meat!
Cry mackrel, or sing ballads through the street;
Foot stockings, mend old china, or black shoes,
Sooner than Tom, poor soul, his locks shall lose.
Humph! what a pretty hoity toity's here?
Thomas, I say, shan't lose his locks, poor dear!
Shav'd too! 'cause people happen to be poor—
I never heard of such a trick before.
Folks, think they may take freedoms with a cook—
Go, ask your master if he'd shave a duke.
No—if he dar'd to do it, I'll be curst:
No Secker, he would eat the razor first.
Good lord! to think poor people's heads to plunder.
Why, lord! are people drunk, or mad, I wonder?
What! shall my poor dear husband lose his locks
Because a han't ten millions in the stocks?
Because on me, forsooth, a can't bestow
A di'mond petticoat, to make a show?
Marry come up, indeed—a pretty joke—
Any thing's good enough for humble folk:
Shov'd here and there, forsooth; call'd dog and b---,
God bless us well, because we are not rich.
People will soon be beat about with sticks,
Forsooth, because they han't a coach and six.
A shan't be shav'd, and I'am his lawful wife:
The man was never lousy in his life.
Ax what his mother says—his nearest kin—
“Tom never had a blotch upon his skin,
But when a had the measles and small pox.”
What for, then, shall the fellow lose his locks?
“She never in her life-time saw (she says)
A tidier, cleanlier lad, in all her days—
And all her neighbours said with huge surprise,
A finer boy was never seen with eyes!”

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So, Mister Secker, let's have no more touse—
Hunt further for the owner of the Louse.
Sir, 'tis a burning shame, I'm bold to say,
To take poor people's character away.
Who knows the varmine isn't your own, odsfish!
You're fond of peeping into ev'ry dish.’

Again of Secker boil'd th' internal man;
Thought urging thought, again to rage began:
Huge thoughts of diff'rent sizes swell'd his soul;
Now mounting high, now sinking low, they roll;
Bustling here, there, up, down, and round about;
So wild the mob, so terrible the rout!
How like a leg of mutton in the pot,
With turnips thick surrounded all so hot!
Amid the gulph of broth, sublime, profound,
Tumultuous, jostling, how they rush around!
Now up the turnips mount with skins of snow,
While restless, lab'ring mutton dives below—
Now lofty soaring, climbs the leg of sheep,
While turnips downwards plunges 'mid the deep!
Strange such resemblances in things shoul lie!
But what escapes the poet's piercing eye?
Just like the sun—for what escapes his ray,
Who darts on deepest shade the golden day!

Muse, let us pause a moment—here we see
A woman, certainly of low degree,
Reviling folk of elevated station;
Thus waging war with mild subordination.
Should sweet subordination chance to die,
Adieu to kings and courtier-men so high;
Then will that imp equality prevail,
Who knows no diff'rence between head and tail;
Then majesty, the lofty nose who lifts,
With tears shall wash and iron her own shifts;
To darn her stockings, from her height descend;
Which now are giv'n to Mackenthun to mend—

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Turn her fair fingers into vulgar paws,
And wash her dirty laces and her gauze.
Then dimn'd are coronets that awe inspire,
And sceptres stuff'd, like faggots in the fire.
Ne'er let me view the hour, my soul that shocks,
When female majesty shall wash her smocks:
Such humbled grandeur let me never see:
Soapsuds and sovereignty but ill agree:
Malkin and majesty but ill accord:
Rubbers and royalty are kin abhorr'd!
Strange union! 'tis the vulture and the bat;
A gulf and mudpool—elephant and rat;
A great archbishop, and an undertaker;
The muse of epic, and a riddle-maker;
A roaring king in tragedy sublime,
And he who plays poor pug in pantomime;
The lord who in the senate wonder draws,
Firm in the fair support of freedom's cause;
And that same Lord, behind the scenes, a snail,
Who, crawling, of an actress holds the tail;
Marchesi on the stage with steel and plume,
And that Marchesi in a lady's room;
Sir Joseph , Jove-like, with his hammer'd arm,
Who thund'ring breaks of sleep the opiate charm;
And that Sir Joseph, with a simple look,
Collecting simples near the simple brook.

Again came Prudence, quaker-looking form,
Sweet-humour'd goddess, to suppress the storm,
Who clapp'd her hands (indeed an act uncouth)
Full on the gaping hole of Secker's mouth;
Compressing thus a thousand iron words,
Sharp ev'ry soul of them as points of swords:
But soon her hand forsook his lips and chin,
Who own'd the goddess, and but gave a grin.

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Thus from a fretful bottle of small beer,
If, mad, the cork should leap with wild career;
Lo, to the bottle's mouth the butler flies,
And with dexterity his hand applies!
In vain the liquor bustles 'mid the dome;
John quells all fury, and subdues the foam!
Now rose the major—‘Mister Secker—sir,
You make in this affair a pretty stir!
'Twere doubtless a fine present in a box,
To offer to our sovereign lord, the locks:
Some vast reward would follow to be sure;
A pretty little, sweet snug sinecure.
Yes—Master Secker well can play his cards:
Sublime achievements claim sublime rewards.
I humbly do presume, sir, that his grace
Has promis'd ye a warm exciseman's place:—
Some folks are jacks-in-office, fond of power!’
Thus spoke the cook, like vinegar so sour.
‘No matter, Master Major, what I get;
All that I know, is this, your heads shall sweat:
I'll see the business done, depend upon't—
I'll order matters, d---n me, if I don't:
Yes, Master Dixon, you shall know who's who—
Which is the better gemman, I or you.’
Thus answers Secker to the man of woes,
And points his satire with a cock'd-up nose.
Scarce had he utter'd, when a noise was heard;
And now behold a motley band appear'd!
With Babel sounds at once the kitchen rings,
Of groom, page, barber, and the best of kings!
And lo, the best of queens must see the fun;
And lo, the princesses so beauteous run;
And Madam Schwellenberg came hobbling too;
Poor lady, losing in the race a shoe!
But in revenge-pursuit, the loss how slight!
The world would lose a leg, to please a spite.

And now for peace did Secker bawl aloud;
And lo, peace came at once among the crowd.

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In courts of justice thus, to hush the hum,
‘Silence,’ the crier calls, and all his mum—
‘Cooks, scullions, all, of high and low degree,
Attend, and learn our monarch's will from me.
Our sovereign lord the king, whose word is fate,
Wills in his wisdom to see shav'd each pate:
Then, gentlemen, pray take your chairs at once;
And let each barber fall upon his sconce.’—
Thus thunder'd Secker with a Mars-like face,
And struck dire terror through the roasting race.
Thus roar'd Achilles 'mid the martial fray,
When ev'ry frighted Trojan ran away.

Calm was the crowd, when thus the king of isles,
Firm for the shave, but yet with kingly smiles—
‘You must be shav'd—you shall, you must indeed:
No, no, I shan't let slip a single head—
A very filthy, nasty, dirty trick—
The thought on't turns my stomach—makes me sick,
Louse—louse—a nasty thing, a louse I hate:—
No, no, I'll have no more upon my plate.
One is sufficient—yes, yes—quite a store—
I'll have no more—no more, I'll have no more.’

Thus spoke the king, like ev'ry king who gives
To triftes, lustre that for ever lives.
Thus stinking vapours from the oozy pool,
Of cats and kittens, dogs and puppies full,
Bright sol sublimes, and gives them golden wings,
The cloud on which some say, the cherub sings.

Late clerk of the kitchen.

A lady, attendant on the princesses,

Sir Joseph Banks. A part of his royal insignia is a hammer to knock down a dispute, and keep the Royal Society awake.