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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| VI. | ODE VI. |
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 | The Works of Peter Pindar [i.e. John Wolcot] |  |
ODE VI.
The light of Reason is a little ray,
But still it shows us the right way:
Indeed, the gentlewoman makes, no blaze,
No bonfire tempting a fool's eyes to gaze—
A modest dame, remote, and calm, and coy,
And never playeth gambols to destroy.
But still it shows us the right way:
Indeed, the gentlewoman makes, no blaze,
No bonfire tempting a fool's eyes to gaze—
A modest dame, remote, and calm, and coy,
And never playeth gambols to destroy.
But Error, what a meretricious jade,
Amidst her trackless wilds immers'd in shade,
To tempt the silly and unwary!
Her meteor, lo! she lights!—here, there,
Up, down, she dances it—now far, now near,
In mad and riotous vagary.
Amidst her trackless wilds immers'd in shade,
To tempt the silly and unwary!
Her meteor, lo! she lights!—here, there,
Up, down, she dances it—now far, now near,
In mad and riotous vagary.
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On the fools wander, in pursuit so stout,
And love of this same garish light;
All on a sudden goes this meteor out;
And caught, like badgers, in the sack of night,
Blund'ring and trying to get back agen,
They roll about in vain, poor men.
And love of this same garish light;
All on a sudden goes this meteor out;
And caught, like badgers, in the sack of night,
Blund'ring and trying to get back agen,
They roll about in vain, poor men.
Thus you Academicians all proceed!
You are those badgers, gentlemen, indeed!
You are those badgers, gentlemen, indeed!
There seems an ardent spirit, to my mind,
A revolution spirit, 'mongst mankind:
A spark will now set kingdoms in a blaze,
That would not fire a barn in former days;
So lately turn'd to touchwood is each state—
So whimsical, indeed, the ways of Fate!
A revolution spirit, 'mongst mankind:
A spark will now set kingdoms in a blaze,
That would not fire a barn in former days;
So lately turn'd to touchwood is each state—
So whimsical, indeed, the ways of Fate!
Pray, sirs, both old and young, ye bright and muddy,
Did ever you make cuckoldom your study?
P'rhaps not, if rightly I divine—
But, gentlemen, I've made it mine.
Did ever you make cuckoldom your study?
P'rhaps not, if rightly I divine—
But, gentlemen, I've made it mine.
This state of man, and let me add obscenity,
Is not a situation of betweenity,
As some word-coiners are dispos'd to call't—
Meaning a mawkish, as-it-were-ish state,
Containing neither love nor hate—
A sort of water-gruel without salt.
Is not a situation of betweenity,
As some word-coiners are dispos'd to call't—
Meaning a mawkish, as-it-were-ish state,
Containing neither love nor hate—
A sort of water-gruel without salt.
Know then, that Cuckoldom's all eye, all ear,
All smell, all taste, and, faith! all feeling—
His senses sharp as those of cats appear,
To right, to left—as quick as soldiers wheeling,
To catch a wife's bad fame, alas! not praise;
Thus setting traps to squeeze his future days;
All smell, all taste, and, faith! all feeling—
His senses sharp as those of cats appear,
To right, to left—as quick as soldiers wheeling,
To catch a wife's bad fame, alas! not praise;
Thus setting traps to squeeze his future days;
Watering with one eternal tear the eye,
And making lovely Life one lengthen'd sigh:
A pair of antlers his—he sits on thorns—
He nothing sees but horns, horns, horns!
And making lovely Life one lengthen'd sigh:
A pair of antlers his—he sits on thorns—
He nothing sees but horns, horns, horns!
Nay, to the cuckold in idea, lo,
On either side his head a horn appears
Tremendous! but which all his neighbours know
Are only one huge pair of ass's ears.
On either side his head a horn appears
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Are only one huge pair of ass's ears.
Then pray dismiss your jealousies and frights;
Our m*****h means not to invade your rights:
It never, never was a royal plan—
‘For Brutus is an honourable man!’
Greater from Chambers should be all your fears,
Whose house is tumbling fast about your ears.
Our m*****h means not to invade your rights:
It never, never was a royal plan—
‘For Brutus is an honourable man!’
Greater from Chambers should be all your fears,
Whose house is tumbling fast about your ears.
| The Works of Peter Pindar [i.e. John Wolcot] | |