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

SIR Joseph, fav'rite of great queens and kings,
Whose wisdom, weed and insect hunter sings;
And ladies fair applaud, with smile so dimpling;
Went forth one day, amidst the laughing fields,
Where nature such exhaustless treasure yields,
A simpling!

It happen'd on the self-same morn so bright,
The nimble pupils of Sir Sampson Wright,
A simpling too for plants call'd thieves, proceeded:
Of which the nation's field should oft be weeded.

Now did a thieftaker so sly,
Peep o'er a hedge with cunning eye,
And quick espy'd the knight with solemn air,
Deep in a ditch where watercresses grow;
On which he to his comrades cry'd, ‘See, ho!’
Then jump'd (unsportsman like) upon his hare.

Hare-like Sir Joseph did not squeak, but bawl'd,
With dread prodigiously appall'd—
The thieftakers no ceremony us'd;
But taking poor Sir Joseph by the neck,
They bade him speak;
But first with names their captive knight abus'd.

‘Sir, what d'ye take me for?’ the knight exlaim'd—
‘A thief!’ reply'd the runners with a curse:
‘And now, sir, let us search you, and be damn'd!’
And then they search'd his pockets, fobs, and purse:

But 'stead of pistol dire, and crape,
A pocket-handkerchief they cast their eye on,
Containing frogs and toads of various shape,
Dock, daisy, nettletop, and dandelion,
To entertain, with great propriety,
The members of his sage Society:
Yet would not alter they their strong belief,
That this their pris'ner was no thief!

‘Sirs, I'm no highwayman,’ exclaim'd the knight—
‘No—there,’ rejoin'd the runners, ‘you are right—
A footpad only—Yes, we know your trade—
Yes, you're a pretty babe of grace:
We want no proofs, old codger, but your face;
So come along with us, old blade.’

'Twas useless to resist, or to complain—
In vain, Sir Joseph pleaded—'twas in vain
That he was highly titled, that he swore—
The instant that poor Banks his titles counted,
Which to an F. R. S. and knight amounted,
His guardians laugh'd, and clapp'd, and cry'd ‘encore!’

Sir Joseph told them, that a neighb'ring 'squire
Should answer for it that he was no thief:
On which they plumply damn'd him for a liar,
And said such stories should not save his beef;
And if they understood their trade,
His mittimus would soon be made;
And forty pounds be theirs, a pretty sum,
For sending such a rogue to kingdom come.

Now to the 'squire mov'd pris'ner knight and Co.
The runners taking him in tow,
Like privateers of Britain's warlike nation,
Towing a French East-Indiaman, their prize,
So black, and of enormous size,
Safe into port for condemnation.

Whether they tied his hands behind his back,
For fear the knight might run away,
And made, indelicate, his breeches slack,
We've no authority to say.

And now the country people gather'd round,
And star'd upon the knight in thought profound,
Not on the system of Linnæus thinking—
Fancying they saw a rogue in ev'ry feature;—
Such is the populace's horrid nature
Tow'rds people through misfortune sinking.

At length amidst much mob and mire,
Indeed amidst innumerable ranks,
Fatigu'd, they reach'd the mansion of the 'squire,
To prove th' identity of Joseph Banks.

Now to the 'squire, familiar bow'd the knight,
Who knew Sir Joseph at first sight—
What's strongly mark'd, is quickly known agen—
And with a frown that awe and dread commanded,
The thieftakers severely reprimanded
For thus mistaking gentlemen.

Then bade them ask a pardon on their knees,
Of him that was a knight and F. R. S.—

Who, rather than the higher pow'rs displease,
Imagin'd that they could not well do less—

Then on their knuckles rais'd they hands and eyes,
And crav'd Sir Joseph's pardon for belief,
That when they jump'd upon him by surprise,
They took so great a gemman for a thief,
Hoping to mind th' advice of godly books,
Viz. not to judge of people by their looks.