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 |
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SIR JOSEPH BANKS AND THE EMPEROR OF MOROCCO,
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The Works of Peter Pindar [i.e. John Wolcot] | ||
SIR JOSEPH BANKS AND THE EMPEROR OF MOROCCO,
A TALE.
One intellect not all things comprehends:
The genius form'd for weeds, and grubs, and flies,
Can't have for ever at its finger ends
What's doing ev'ry moment in the skies.
THE ARGUMENT.
Peter the Great fighteth the President's Battle—proclaimeth some of the President's Powers—viz. his persevering Tooth and Nail Powers—his Stomach Powers—his Face Powers—his Hammer Powers, triumphing over the Powers of Morpheus, and eke his courageous Powers.
Peter beginneth the Tale—Sir Joseph proceedeth to hunt—but first ejaculateth—The Virtuoso's Prayer—Sir Joseph's Insect Enthusiasm induceth him, contrary to his general Piety, to pray wickedly, by selfishly wishing to gratify his own Desires at the expense of the Farmers—Sir Joseph prayeth for Pharaoh's Flies—condemneth Pharaoh's Taste—maketh Interest for Showers of flies, instead of Quails—prayeth for Monsters, and promiseth them the Honour of his Name.
Sir Joseph, in a Pointer-like Manner, ambulateth—he espieth the Emperor of Morocco—Peter conjectureth as to Sir Joseph's Joy on the Occasion
PROEMIUM.
PETRUS LOQUITUR.
Call poor Sir Joseph ass, and owl;
Nay, oft with coarser epithets revile;
Though pitying much his pigmy merit.
Let me display a Christian spirit,
And try to lift a lame dog o'er a stile.
I must take up the cudgels for my client.
Who at his blushing honours look so blue,
That though Sir Joseph is not deep-discerning,
And though, as all the world well knows,
A nutshell might with perfect ease enclose
Three quarters of his sense, and all his learning;
To find the longitude, or burn the Thames;
With tooth and nail, like Hercules, so stout,
He labours for his wish, no matter what;—
I can't say that Sir Joseph lions kills;
Hugs giants, or the blood of hydras spills;
But then most manfully he eats a bat,
Eats toads, or tough, or tender, old, or young,
As in the sweetest strains the Muse hath sung ;
Fit with the hugest Hottentot to cope,
Who dines on raw flesh at the Cape of Hope.
To deathlike silence turns the direst din;
And where so many savages assemble,
Like hounds they want a proper whipper-in.
Whilst Blagden reads a chapter upon moths?
Down goes the hammer, cloth'd with thunder!
Up spring the snorers, half without their wigs;
Old graybeards grave, and smock-fac'd prigs,
With ell-wide jaws displaying signs of wonder.
And courage proper to oppose a faction;
Therefore he sits with wonderful propriety,
The Monro of a mad society:
And that he is both brave and persevering,
Witness the following story, well worth hearing.
Blushing honours—the author undoubtedly means the epithet blushing to be understood as synonymous with blooming, and not in a satirical sense: God forbid that the friend of Sir Joseph should mean otherwise!
Frequently, indeed, are the member's sent to the land of shadows by the society's somniferous papers; assisted in a great measure in their voyage by the doctor's drowsy manner of communicating the contents.
Of whom all insectmongers sing the praises,
Went on a day to catch this game renown'd,
On vi'lets, dunghills, nettletops and daisies!
But first (so pious is Sir Joseph's nature)
He thus address'd the butterfly's Creator.
THE VIRTUOSO's PRAYER.
And form'd the wings of butterflies,
Attend my humble pray'r!
Like Egypt, as in days of yore,
Let earth with flies be cover'd o'er,
And darken'd all the air.
Then might thy servant pick and choose
From such a glorious heap:
Forth to the world I'd boldly rush,
Put all Museums to the blush,
And hold them all dog cheap.
The flies on him were thrown to waste,
Nay, met with strong objection;
But had thy servant, Lord, been there,
I should have made, or much I err,
A wonderful collection!
Thou once didst rain on people quails—
Again the world surprise;
And 'stead of such a trifling bird,
Rain on thy servant Joseph, Lord,
Show'rs of rare butterflies!
With monsters charm thy servant's sight,
Turn feathers into hair:
Make legs where legs were never seen,
And eyes, no bigger than a pin,
As broad as saucers stare.
O! let thy power supply with paws,
Adorn'd with human nails;
In value more to make them rise,
Transplant from all their heads, their eyes,
And place them in their tails.
To make me butterflies alive,
To fly without a head;
To skim the hedges and the fields,
Nay, eat the meat thy bouuty yields,
Such wonders were indeed!
Members would press around me greeting;
The Journals swell with thanks;
And more to magnify their fame,
Those headless flies should have a name
My name—Sir Joseph Banks!’
Hope in his heart, and eagles in his eyes!
Just like a pointer, quart'ring well his ground,
He nimbly trots the field around!
At length, to bless his hunting ambulation,
Up rose a native of the flutt'ring nation.
Broad star'd Sir Joseph as if struck by thunder
(For much, indeed, are eyes enlarg'd by wonder),
When from a dab of dung, or some such thing,
An Emp'ror of Morocco rear'd his wing!
More blest, cried ‘eureka, I've nabb'd the thief;’
Nor hunters, when a hare, to shun foul play,
Steals from his seat so sly, cry ‘Stole away;’
Nor stale old nymphs, by raging virtue sway'd,
Roar on a frail one, ‘Kill the wicked jade;’
Than roar'd Sir Joseph on the verdant sod,
‘Morocco's Emp'ror, by the living God!’
The little gamesome Piccadilly duke
Eyes a nice tit, fresh launch'd upon the town;
Nor with more pleasure Cupid's trusty crimp,
By mouths of vulgar people nam'd a pimp,
Stares on his virtuous fee, a crown;
Who (shameless rascals, wanting not a wife)
Hire love, like hackney-coaches, by the hour,
Damning the love so true that lasts for life;
Nor wither'd Windsor on the simple maid,
From scenes of rural innocence betray'd;
Forc'd to dispose of Nature's sweetest charms;
Doom'd for a meal to sink a beauteous wreck;
To lend to man she loathes, her lip, her neck,
And, weeping, act the wanton in his arms;
Than did the hero of my song,
Survey the emp'ror as he mov'd along.
Death shutting up his wife's two cat-like eyes,
Accustom'd on him oft and fierce to roll;
Just like a galley slave, poor fellow, treated,
Or those poor English at Calcutta sweated;
Stuff'd in the old Black Hole:
Not with more true delight a lover views
The blushing orient leading on the day
That gives a blooming partner to his arms,
In virtues rich, and rich in youthful charms,
To bid the hours with rapture glide away:
Toss'd like the sea with thund'ring thoughts about
Cursing with hearty pray'rs the lingering night;
Now trying hard to sleep away the time;
Now staring on the dark, like bards for rhime,
To catch the smallest glimpse of light.
And bent to spite him, lie a-bed all day:
Thurlow, the seal and royal conscience keeper,
Sees his prime fav'rite, Mr. Justice Buller,
High thron'd in Chancery, grieve the poor Sir Pepper,
Than did the president so keen espy
The butterfly!
His Moorish majesty in circles flew!
With sturdy striding legs and outstretch'd hand,
The virtuoso did his prey pursue.
And sees in thought the monarch fix'd with pins;
Sees him on paper giving up the ghost,
Nail'd like a hawk or martyr to a post.
Like patriot Eden—fell to rise again;
Like Phœbus coursing Daphne was the chace,
But not so was the meaning of the race,
Sir Joseph ran to kill, not kiss the Moor;
Like Tamerlane (redoubtable his rage),
Who kept poor Bajazet, his vanquish'd foe,
Just like an owl or magpie in a cage.
Flat as the flattest of the flounder race!
Down with Sir Joseph dropp'd his three-cock'd hat,
Most nobly sharing in his friend's disgrace.
Again he springs, with hope and ardour pale,
And blowing like the fish baptiz'd a whale;
Darting his arms now here, now there, so wild,
With all the eager raptures of a child,
Who with broad anxious eye a bauble views,
And, capering legs and hands, the toy pursues.
Had mark'd Sir Joseph, running, tumbling, sweating,
Stretching his hands and arms, like one insane,
And with those arms the air around him beating,
To no particular opinion leaning,
Of such manœuvring could not guess the meaning.
Quite out of breath, and out of luck,
Pursued the flying monarch to the place,
Where stood this countryman, with marv'ling face.
Wild plung'd the President with all his force,
His brow in sweat, his soul in perturbation;
Mindless of trees, and bushes, and the brambles,
Head over heels into the lane he scrambles,
Where Hob stood lost in wide-mouth'd speculation!
Hast seen, hast seen, my lad, this way
Hob to the insect-hunter nought replied,
But shook his head, and sympathizing sigh'd, ‘Alas!
Poor gentleman, I'm sorry for ye;
And pity much your upper story!’
And struck once more Sir Joseph's hawk-like view;
And now he mounted o'er a garden wall!
In rush'd Sir Joseph at the garden door,
Knock'd down the gard'ner—what could man do more?
And left him as he chose to rise or sprawl.
Through tulips and anemonies he push'd,
Breaking a hundred necks at ev'ry spring:
On bright carnations, blushing on their banks,
With desp'rate hoof he trod, and mow'd down ranks,
Such vast ambition urg'd to seize the king!
And, lo! the cries, so shrill, of many a score,
A sad and fatal stroke proclaim'd;
The scarecrow all so red, was overturn'd;
His vanish'd hat, and wig, and head, he mourn'd,
And much, indeed, the man of straw was maim'd!
With face so fierce, and pointed gun,
Who threaten'd all the birds with shot;
To kill of sparrows ev'ry mother's son:
Fierce as those scarlet ministers of fate,
The warlike guardians of St. James's gate!
He tumbled o'er a hive of bees;
Out rush'd the host, and wonder'd from their souls,
What dev'l dar'd dash their house about their polls.
As made him like a football kick the Dutch!
Descry'd the author of their obligation;
And, to repay it, round him rush'd the swarm;
Prodigious was the buz about his ears!
With all their venom did they push their spears,
But, lo! they work'd him not one grain of harm!
By way of screen!
Strong, like old Homer's shields, in tough bull hide,
And brass well temper'd, to support the shock!—
The bees their disappointed vengeance mourn'd,
And from their fierce attack, fatigu'd, return'd,
Believing they had storm'd a barber's block.
Was only tickling the great man!
Thus round big Ajax rag'd the Trojan host,
Who might as well, indeed, have drubb'd a post.
O'erwhelm'd with wonderment and dung,
And fiercely in his turn pursu'd the knight!
From bed to bed, full tilt the champions rac'd,
This chas'd the knight, the knight the emp'ror chas'd,
Who scal'd the walls, alas! and vanish'd out of sight:
To find the empress, p'rhaps, and tell her grace
The merry hist'ry of the chase.
O'ertaking, grasps Sir Joseph by the collar,
And blest with fav'rite oaths, abundance show'rs:
Just like a cart-horse on my beds to trample,
More than your soul is worth, to kill my flow'rs!
See how your two vile hoofs have made a wreck—
Look, rascal, at each beauty's broken neck!’—
Although superior to his soul declar'd,
And vegetable blood profusely spill'd,
Superior, too, to all reward;
Mindless of all the gard'ner's plaintive strains,
The emp'rors form monopoliz'd his brains.
‘Gone! by the God that made me!—D*mn his bones!
O Lord! no disappointment mine surpasses;—
Poh! what are paltry flowers and broken glasses,
A tumbled scarecrow, bees, the idle whim?—
Zounds! what a set of miscreants to him!
‘Who's gone?’ the gard'ner straight reply'd—
‘The emp'ror, sir,’ with tears, Sir Joseph cry'd—
‘The emp'ror of Morocco—thought my own!
To unknown fields behold the monarch fly!—
Zounds! not to catch him, what an ass was I!’
And then a groan, a monstrous groan, he fetch'd,
Contemplating around his ruin'd wares;
And now he let Sir Joseph's collar go;
And now he bray'd aloud with bitterest woe,
‘Mad! madder than the maddest of March hares!
Oh! he hath done the work of fifty pigs!
The devil take his keeper, a damn'd goose,
For letting his wild beast get loose!’
To think himself too near a man
In so Peg-Nicholson a situation;
And happy from a madman to escape,
He left him without bow, or nod, or scrape,
Like Jeremiah 'midst his lamentation.
Sir Joseph's wallet holdeth many a score.
The Works of Peter Pindar [i.e. John Wolcot] | ||