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 V.
Your taunting voices now, my lords, I hear,
And thus they grate the poet's loyal ear:
‘Bard, we are both superior to thy lays—
Deaf to thy censure, and despise thy praise.
And thus they grate the poet's loyal ear:
‘Bard, we are both superior to thy lays—
Deaf to thy censure, and despise thy praise.
‘Know that our monarch lifts his head sublime,
Beyond the reach of groveling rhime,
An Atlas hiding 'midst the thickest clouds;
Whilst thou a beetle, doom'd to buz below,
In circles, envious rambling to and fro,
Survey'st the shining mist his head that shrouds.
Beyond the reach of groveling rhime,
An Atlas hiding 'midst the thickest clouds;
Whilst thou a beetle, doom'd to buz below,
In circles, envious rambling to and fro,
Survey'st the shining mist his head that shrouds.
‘Thy rhimes, insulting kings with pigmy pride,
Are like the sea's mad waves that make a pother,
Wild rushing on some promontory's side,
One noisy blockhead following another.
Are like the sea's mad waves that make a pother,
Wild rushing on some promontory's side,
One noisy blockhead following another.
‘The stately promontory seems to say,
Aspiring fools, go back again, go home:
At once the shoulder'd bullies dash'd away,
Sink from his stately side in fruitless foam.
Aspiring fools, go back again, go home:
At once the shoulder'd bullies dash'd away,
Sink from his stately side in fruitless foam.
65
‘Thou, with rabscallions like thyself,
A poor opiniated elf,
Letting on kings thy pen licentious loose,
Art like an impudent lane goose,
Who, as the trav'ler calmly trots along,
Starts from amongst his flock, an ill-bred throng,
Waddling with pok'd-out neck, and voice so coarse,
As if to swallow up the man and horse:
With rumpled feathers to the steed he steals,
And, like a coward, snaps him by the heels;
Then to his gang, with out-stretch'd pinions hobbling,
The fool erect returns te deum gobbling,
And from each brother's greeting gullet draws
The mingled triumph of a coarse applause,
As if the trotting enemies were beaten,
And man and palfry kill'd and eaten.
A poor opiniated elf,
Letting on kings thy pen licentious loose,
Art like an impudent lane goose,
Who, as the trav'ler calmly trots along,
Starts from amongst his flock, an ill-bred throng,
Waddling with pok'd-out neck, and voice so coarse,
As if to swallow up the man and horse:
With rumpled feathers to the steed he steals,
And, like a coward, snaps him by the heels;
Then to his gang, with out-stretch'd pinions hobbling,
The fool erect returns te deum gobbling,
And from each brother's greeting gullet draws
The mingled triumph of a coarse applause,
As if the trotting enemies were beaten,
And man and palfry kill'd and eaten.
‘Poor rogue, thou hast not got the trifling spirit
To own thy king e'er did one act of merit.’
To own thy king e'er did one act of merit.’
My lords, with great submission to your sense,
Giving the lie, yet hoping no offence;
An act is his my heart with rapture hails—
George gave the world the Prince of Wales;
A prince, who when he fills Old England's throne,
The virtues and fair science shall surround it;
And when he quits the sceptre, all shall own
He left it as unsullied as he found it.
Giving the lie, yet hoping no offence;
An act is his my heart with rapture hails—
George gave the world the Prince of Wales;
A prince, who when he fills Old England's throne,
The virtues and fair science shall surround it;
And when he quits the sceptre, all shall own
He left it as unsullied as he found it.
The Works of Peter Pindar [i.e. John Wolcot] | ||