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 Works of Peter Pindar [i.e. John Wolcot] |  |
ODE II.
Right honest watchdogs of the state,
I like to smile at kings, but treason hate—
I like to smile at kings, but treason hate—
Most busy Jenkinson, Bute's once best friend,
A praise that stamps a character divine!
Believe not thus, the poet can offend;
Ye gods! can Peter pour th' unloyal line?
A praise that stamps a character divine!
Believe not thus, the poet can offend;
Ye gods! can Peter pour th' unloyal line?
I Peter, perpetrate so foul a thing!
I offer mischief to so good a king!
Now be it known to all the realms around,
I would not lose my liege for twenty pound!
I offer mischief to so good a king!
Now be it known to all the realms around,
I would not lose my liege for twenty pound!
Mild Osborne, softer than the down of goose,
I beg you will not let suspicion loose—
If so—of history I'll turn compiler—
Divulge some tame amours with Mistress C*yl*r:
So tame, indeed, so singularly stupid,
As gave a blush to little pimping Cupid!
I beg you will not let suspicion loose—
If so—of history I'll turn compiler—
Divulge some tame amours with Mistress C*yl*r:
So tame, indeed, so singularly stupid,
As gave a blush to little pimping Cupid!
O Heav'ns! can Jenkinson and Osborne long,
Foes to the Muse, to cut out Peter's tongue?
Arm'd with the Jove-like thunders of the crown,
To knock with those dread bolts a simple poet down?
Foes to the Muse, to cut out Peter's tongue?
Arm'd with the Jove-like thunders of the crown,
To knock with those dread bolts a simple poet down?
Lo! into life against my will I tumbled,
And, says my nurse, I made a horrid clatter;
Kick'd, sprawl'd, and sputter'd, gap'd, and cry'd, and grumbled,
Quite angry, seemingly, with mother Nature;
And, says my nurse, I made a horrid clatter;
Kick'd, sprawl'd, and sputter'd, gap'd, and cry'd, and grumbled,
Quite angry, seemingly, with mother Nature;
61
Who, queen-like, thinking all she does is right,
Against my wishes lugg'd me into light;
And what is harder, and worse manners still,
She'll kick me out of it against my will.
Against my wishes lugg'd me into light;
And what is harder, and worse manners still,
She'll kick me out of it against my will.
Yet since on this world's theatre I'm thrown,
Which with my temper now begins to suit;
And since its drama pleases, I must own
I should be sorry to remain a mute;
Inclin'd to say, like Beckford , undeterr'd,
‘By G** I'll speak, and d*mme I'll be heard.’
Which with my temper now begins to suit;
And since its drama pleases, I must own
I should be sorry to remain a mute;
Inclin'd to say, like Beckford , undeterr'd,
‘By G** I'll speak, and d*mme I'll be heard.’
My lords, I fain would live a little longer,
For lo! desire, as to a bosom wife,
Undoubtedly the greatest bliss of life,
Hath taken deeper root and stronger.
For lo! desire, as to a bosom wife,
Undoubtedly the greatest bliss of life,
Hath taken deeper root and stronger.
Would He who made the world look down and say,
‘Peter, wilt live on earth a thousand years?’
‘Lord, Lord,’ I should delighted roar away,
‘Ten thousand, if to thee it meet appears.’
‘So long! what for?’ the Deity might cry,
‘O great Divinity,’ quoth I,
‘A thousand reasons; principally one,
To see the present Prince of Wales,
Whom many an aspic tongue assails,
Aloft on Britain's envied throne.
‘Peter, wilt live on earth a thousand years?’
‘Lord, Lord,’ I should delighted roar away,
‘Ten thousand, if to thee it meet appears.’
‘So long! what for?’ the Deity might cry,
‘O great Divinity,’ quoth I,
‘A thousand reasons; principally one,
To see the present Prince of Wales,
Whom many an aspic tongue assails,
Aloft on Britain's envied throne.
Where half the monarchs that have sat before
Have only sat to eat, and drink, and snore;
To damn the credit of the age,
And load with folly hist'ry's blushing page.’
Have only sat to eat, and drink, and snore;
To damn the credit of the age,
And load with folly hist'ry's blushing page.’
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And, Jenkinson, should thy hard face behold
A George the Fourth upon the throne,
Adieu at once thy age of gold;
Behold thy hopes of higher honours gone!
A George the Fourth upon the throne,
Adieu at once thy age of gold;
Behold thy hopes of higher honours gone!
Then get thyself an earldom quick, quick, quick,
For fear of Fortune's wild vagaries;
Thus shall thy daughters all, like mushrooms thick,
Rise Lady Joans and Madges, Nells and Marys.
For fear of Fortune's wild vagaries;
Thus shall thy daughters all, like mushrooms thick,
Rise Lady Joans and Madges, Nells and Marys.
The House of Commons frequently resounded with those emphatic expressions of the late angry patriotic alderman, when gentlemen, by scraping, hemming, coughing, and groaning (to adopt the phraseology of my old friend Dr. Johnson) meant to oppugn the impetuosity of pecuniary arrogance, and annihilate the ebullition of pertinacious loquacity.
| The Works of Peter Pindar [i.e. John Wolcot] | |