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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| THE JEWESS AND HER SON. |
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 | The Works of Peter Pindar [i.e. John Wolcot] |  |
42
THE JEWESS AND HER SON.
POOR Mistress Levi had a luckless son,
Who, rushing to obtain the foremost seat
In imitation of th' ambitious great,
High from the gall'ry, ere the play begun,
He fell all plump into the pit,
Dead in a minute as a nit:
In short, he broke his pretty Hebrew neck;
Indeed and very dreadful was the wreck!
Who, rushing to obtain the foremost seat
In imitation of th' ambitious great,
High from the gall'ry, ere the play begun,
He fell all plump into the pit,
Dead in a minute as a nit:
In short, he broke his pretty Hebrew neck;
Indeed and very dreadful was the wreck!
The mother was distracted, raving, wild—
Shriek'd, tore her hair, embrac'd and kiss'd her child—
Afflicted every heart with grief around:
Soon as the show'r of tears was somewhat past,
And moderately calm th' hysteric blast,
She cast about her eyes in thought profound:
And being with a saving knowledge bless'd,
She thus the playhouse manager address'd:—
Shriek'd, tore her hair, embrac'd and kiss'd her child—
Afflicted every heart with grief around:
Soon as the show'r of tears was somewhat past,
And moderately calm th' hysteric blast,
She cast about her eyes in thought profound:
And being with a saving knowledge bless'd,
She thus the playhouse manager address'd:—
‘Sher, I'm de moder of de poor Chew lad,
Dat meet mishfarten here so bad—
Sher, I muss haf de shilling back, you know,
Ass Moses haf nat see de show.’
Dat meet mishfarten here so bad—
Sher, I muss haf de shilling back, you know,
Ass Moses haf nat see de show.’
But as for av'rice, 'tis the very devil;
The fount, alas! of ev'ry evil;
The cancer of the heart—the worst of ills:
Wherever sown, luxuriantly it thrives;
No flow'r of virtue near it thrives:
Like aconite, where'er it spreads, it kills.
The fount, alas! of ev'ry evil;
The cancer of the heart—the worst of ills:
Wherever sown, luxuriantly it thrives;
No flow'r of virtue near it thrives:
Like aconite, where'er it spreads, it kills.
In ev'ry soil behold the poison spring!
Can taint the beggar, and infect the king.
The mighty Marlb'rough pilfer'd cloth and bread;
So says that gentle satirist 'squire Pope;
And Peterborough's earl upon this head,
Affords us little room to hope,
That what the Twitnam bard avow'd.
Might not be readily allow'd.
Can taint the beggar, and infect the king.
43
So says that gentle satirist 'squire Pope;
And Peterborough's earl upon this head,
Affords us little room to hope,
That what the Twitnam bard avow'd.
Might not be readily allow'd.
| The Works of Peter Pindar [i.e. John Wolcot] | |