The Works of Peter Pindar [i.e. John Wolcot] ... With a Copious Index. To which is prefixed Some Account of his Life. In Four Volumes |
 | I. |
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
THE ROYAL SHEEP. |
|
|
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
 | The Works of Peter Pindar [i.e. John Wolcot] |  |
421
THE ROYAL SHEEP.
Some time ago a dozen lambs,
Two rev'rend patriarchial rams,
And one good motherly old ewe,
Died on a sudden down at Kew;
Two rev'rend patriarchial rams,
And one good motherly old ewe,
Died on a sudden down at Kew;
Where, with the sweetest innocence, alas!
Those pretty inoffensive lambs,
And rev'rend horned patriarchal rams,
And motherly old ewe, were nibbling grass:
All, the fair property of our great king,
Whose deaths did much the royal bosom wring.
Those pretty inoffensive lambs,
And rev'rend horned patriarchal rams,
And motherly old ewe, were nibbling grass:
All, the fair property of our great king,
Whose deaths did much the royal bosom wring.
'Twas said that dogs had tickled them to death;
Play'd with their gentle throats, and stopp'd their breath.
Play'd with their gentle throats, and stopp'd their breath.
Like Homer's heroes on th' ensanguin'd plain,
Stalk'd Mister Robinson around the slain!
And never was more frighten'd in his life!
So shock'd was Mister Robinson's whole face,
Not stronger horrors could have taken place,
Had Cerberus devour'd his wife!
Stalk'd Mister Robinson around the slain!
And never was more frighten'd in his life!
So shock'd was Mister Robinson's whole face,
Not stronger horrors could have taken place,
Had Cerberus devour'd his wife!
With wild, despairing looks, and sighs,
And wet and pity-asking eyes,
He, trembling to the royal presence ventur'd—
White as the whitest napkin when he enter'd!
White as the man who sought King Priam's bed,
And told him that his warlike son was dead.
‘O please your majesty’—he, blubb'ring cried—
And then stopp'd short—
‘What? what? what? what?’ the staring king replied—
‘Speak, Robinson, speak, speak, what, what's the hurt?’
And wet and pity-asking eyes,
He, trembling to the royal presence ventur'd—
White as the whitest napkin when he enter'd!
White as the man who sought King Priam's bed,
And told him that his warlike son was dead.
‘O please your majesty’—he, blubb'ring cried—
And then stopp'd short—
422
‘Speak, Robinson, speak, speak, what, what's the hurt?’
‘O, sire,’ said Robinson again—
‘Speak’—said the king—‘put, put me out of pain—
Don't, don't in this suspense a body keep’—
‘O sire;’ cried Robinson, ‘the sheep! the sheep!’
‘Speak’—said the king—‘put, put me out of pain—
Don't, don't in this suspense a body keep’—
‘O sire;’ cried Robinson, ‘the sheep! the sheep!’
‘What of the sheep?’—replied the king, ‘pray, pray,
Dead! Robinson, dead, dead, or run away?’
‘Dead! answer'd Robinson; dead! dead! dead! dead!’
Then like a drooping lily, hung his head!
Dead! Robinson, dead, dead, or run away?’
‘Dead! answer'd Robinson; dead! dead! dead! dead!’
Then like a drooping lily, hung his head!
‘How, how?’ the monarch ask'd, with visage sad—
‘By dogs,’ said Robinson, ‘and likely mad!’
‘By dogs,’ said Robinson, ‘and likely mad!’
‘No, no, they can't be mad, they can't be mad—
‘No, no, things arn't so bad, things arn't so bad,’
Rejoin'd the king;
‘Off with them quick to market—quick, depart;—
In with them, in, in with them in a cart—
Sell, sell them for as much as they will bring.’
‘No, no, things arn't so bad, things arn't so bad,’
Rejoin'd the king;
‘Off with them quick to market—quick, depart;—
In with them, in, in with them in a cart—
Sell, sell them for as much as they will bring.’
Now to Fleet Market, driving like the wind,
Amidst the murder'd mutton, rode the hind ,
All in the royal cart so great,
To try to sell the royal meat.
Amidst the murder'd mutton, rode the hind ,
All in the royal cart so great,
To try to sell the royal meat.
The news of this rare batch of lambs,
And ewe and rams,
Design'd for many a London dinner,
Reach'd the fair ears of Master Sheriff Skinner,
Who, with a hammer and a conscience clear,
Gets glory and ten thousands pounds a year;
And who, if things go tolerably fair,
Will be one day proud London's proud Lord Mayor.
And ewe and rams,
Design'd for many a London dinner,
Reach'd the fair ears of Master Sheriff Skinner,
Who, with a hammer and a conscience clear,
Gets glory and ten thousands pounds a year;
And who, if things go tolerably fair,
Will be one day proud London's proud Lord Mayor.
The alderman was in his pulpip shining,
'Midst gentlemen with nightcaps, hair, and wigs;
In language most rhetorical defining
The sterling merit of a lot of pigs:
When suddenly the news was brought,
That in Fleet Market were unwholesome sheep;
Which made the preacher from his pulpit leap,
As nimble as a tailor or as thought.
'Midst gentlemen with nightcaps, hair, and wigs;
423
The sterling merit of a lot of pigs:
When suddenly the news was brought,
That in Fleet Market were unwholesome sheep;
Which made the preacher from his pulpit leap,
As nimble as a tailor or as thought.
For justice panting, and unaw'd by fears,
This king, this emperor of auctioneers,
Set off—a furious face, indeed, he put on—
Like lightning did he gallop up Cheapside!
Like thunder down through Ludgate did he ride,
To catch the man who sold this dreadful mutton.
This king, this emperor of auctioneers,
Set off—a furious face, indeed, he put on—
Like lightning did he gallop up Cheapside!
Like thunder down through Ludgate did he ride,
To catch the man who sold this dreadful mutton.
Now to Fleet Market full of wrath he came,
And with the spirit of an ancient Roman,
Exceeded I believe by no man,
The alderman, so virtuous, cried out ‘shame!’
And with the spirit of an ancient Roman,
Exceeded I believe by no man,
The alderman, so virtuous, cried out ‘shame!’
‘D---mme,’ to Robinson said Master Skinner,
‘Who on such mutton, sir, can make a dinner?—
‘You, if you please,’
Cried Mister Robinson, with perfect ease.
‘Who on such mutton, sir, can make a dinner?—
‘You, if you please,’
Cried Mister Robinson, with perfect ease.
‘Sir!’—quoth the red-hot alderman again—
‘You,’—quoth the hind, in just the same cool strain.
‘You,’—quoth the hind, in just the same cool strain.
‘Off, off,’ cried Skinner, ‘with your carrion heap—
Quick, d---mme, take away your nasty sheep.’
Quick, d---mme, take away your nasty sheep.’
Whilst I command, not e'en the king
Shall such vile stuff to market bring,
And London stalls such garbage put on—
So please to take away your stinking mutton.’
Shall such vile stuff to market bring,
And London stalls such garbage put on—
So please to take away your stinking mutton.’
‘You,’ replied Robinson, ‘you cry out “Shame!”
You blast the sheep, good Master Skinner, pray;
You give the harmless mutton a bad name!
You impudently order it away!
You blast the sheep, good Master Skinner, pray;
You give the harmless mutton a bad name!
You impudently order it away!
Sweet Master Alderman, don't make this rout:
Pray clap your spectacles upon your snout;
And then your keen, surveying eyes regale
With those same fine large letters on the cart
Which brought this blasted mutton here for sale.’—
Poor Skinner read, and read it with a start.
Pray clap your spectacles upon your snout;
424
With those same fine large letters on the cart
Which brought this blasted mutton here for sale.’—
Poor Skinner read, and read it with a start.
Like Hamlet, frighten'd at his father's ghost,
The alderman stood staring, like a post;
He saw G. R. inscrib'd, in handsome letters,
Which prov'd the sheep belong'd unto his betters.
The alderman stood staring, like a post;
He saw G. R. inscrib'd, in handsome letters,
Which prov'd the sheep belong'd unto his betters.
The alderman now turn'd to deep reflection,
And being blest with proper recollection,
Exclaim'd—‘I've made a great mistake—Oh! sad—
The sheep are really not so bad,
And being blest with proper recollection,
Exclaim'd—‘I've made a great mistake—Oh! sad—
The sheep are really not so bad,
Dear Mister Robinson, I beg your pardon,
Your Job-like patience I've born hard on;
Whoever says the mutton is not good,
Knows nothing, Mister Robinson, of food;
Your Job-like patience I've born hard on;
Whoever says the mutton is not good,
Knows nothing, Mister Robinson, of food;
I verily believe I could turn glutton,
On such neat, wholesome, pretty-looking mutton—
Pray, Mister Robinson, the mutton sell—
I hope, sir, that his majesty is well.’
On such neat, wholesome, pretty-looking mutton—
Pray, Mister Robinson, the mutton sell—
I hope, sir, that his majesty is well.’
So saying, Mr. Robinson he quitted,
With cherubimic smiles and placid brows,
For such embarrassing occasions fitted—
Adding just five and twenty humble bows.
With cherubimic smiles and placid brows,
For such embarrassing occasions fitted—
Adding just five and twenty humble bows.
To work went Robinson to sell the sheep;
But people would not buy, except dog-cheap :
At length the sheep were sold—without the fleece—
And brought King George just half-a-crown a piece.
But people would not buy, except dog-cheap :
At length the sheep were sold—without the fleece—
And brought King George just half-a-crown a piece.
Now for the other saucy lying story,
Made, one would think, to tarnish kingly glory.
Made, one would think, to tarnish kingly glory.
| The Works of Peter Pindar [i.e. John Wolcot] | |