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

Dread sir, the rams' horns that blew down
The walls of Jericho's old town,
Made a most monstrous uproar, all agree—
But lo! a louder noise around us rages,
About two most important personages,
No less, my royal liege, than you and me!

In short, not greater the Philistines made
When Dalilah, a little artful jade
(Indeed a very pretty girl),
Snipp'd off her lover Mister Samson's curl,
Who well repaid the clamours of the bears,
By pulling down the house about their ears.

Prodigious is the shake around!
Still London keeps (thank God) her ground
Yet, how th' exchange and coffee-houses ring!
Nothing is heard but Peter and the King:
The handsome bar-maids stare, as mute as fishes;
And sallow waiters, fright'ned, drop their dishes!

At first 'twas thought the triumph of the Jews
On some great vict'ry in the boxing way:
The news, the very anti-christian news,
Of Israel's Hero having won the day;

408

And Humphries, a true christian boxer, beat:
Enough to give all Christendom a sweat.

Again, 'twas thought great news of the grand Turk
Who on his hands hath got some serious work;
'Twas fancied he had lost the day;
That ev'ry mussulman was kill'd in battle,
A fate most proper for such heathen cattle,
Who do not pray to God our way.

But lo! unto the lofty skies,
Of sound this wonderful ascension,
Doth verily, my liege, from this arise;
That you have giv'n the gentle bard a pension!

Great is the shout indeed, sir, all abroad,
That you have order'd me this handsome thing;
On which, with lifted eyes, I've said, ‘Good God!
Though great my merits, yet how great the king!’

And yet, believe me, sir, I lately heard,
That all your doors were doubly lock'd and barr'd
Against the poet for his tuneful art;
And that the tall, stiff, stately, red machines,
Your grenadiers, the guards of kings and queens,
Were order'd all to stab me to the heart:

That if to house of Buckingham I came,
Commands were giv'n to Mistress Brigg,
A comely, stout, two-handed dame,
To box my ears and pull my wig,
The cooks to spit me—curry me, the grooms,
And kitchen queens to baste me with their brooms.

You're told that in my ways I'm very evil!
So ugly; fit to travel for a show,
And that I look all grimly where I go!
Just like a devil!
With horns, and tail, and hoofs that make folks start;
And in my breast a millstone for a heart!

409

This cometh from a certain painter , sire,
Bid story-mousing Nicolay inquire:
Your page, your mercury, with cunning eyes;
Who, jumping at each sound, so eager, opes
His pretty wither'd pair of Chinese chops,
Like a Dutch dog that leaps at butterflies.
He, sire, will look me o'er, and will not fail
To swear that I've no horns, nor hoofs, nor tail.

Lord! Lord! these sayings grieve me and surprise!
Dread sir, don't see with other people's eyes—
No dev'l am I with horns, and tail, and hoofs—
As for the likeness of my heart to stone—
No, sir—it's full as tender as your own—
Accept, my liege, some simple love-sick proofs.

Mendoza.

The great Mr. West.