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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| XVIII. | ODE XVIII. |
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 | The Works of Peter Pindar [i.e. John Wolcot] |  |
ODE XVIII.
A little more, and I have done—
The muse's tittle-tattle must go on.—
The muse's tittle-tattle must go on.—
The world is very fond of calling ‘Fool:’
It looks with rapture on a simple head,
Of puerilities the rich hot-bed,
So pleasing to the taste of Ridicule.
Rare crops! that, thick'ning into life,
Start, like asparagus, to tempt the knife.
And should the head belong to some great duke,
Hawk-satire eyes it with the keenest look:
Still, should the owner hap to be a king,
Sharp for her quarry, how she prunes her wing!
Such is the proneness to assail great folk,
And make high birth and state a standing joke.
It looks with rapture on a simple head,
Of puerilities the rich hot-bed,
So pleasing to the taste of Ridicule.
Rare crops! that, thick'ning into life,
Start, like asparagus, to tempt the knife.
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Hawk-satire eyes it with the keenest look:
Still, should the owner hap to be a king,
Sharp for her quarry, how she prunes her wing!
Such is the proneness to assail great folk,
And make high birth and state a standing joke.
Oh, for an ointment to destroy the scab
Call'd Envy, which alas! too many know!
The heart should be a medlar, not a crab;
Milk, and not verjuice, from its fount should flow:
But Greatness, sun-like, from the muddy stream,
Draws the foul vapour that obscures its beam!
Call'd Envy, which alas! too many know!
The heart should be a medlar, not a crab;
Milk, and not verjuice, from its fount should flow:
But Greatness, sun-like, from the muddy stream,
Draws the foul vapour that obscures its beam!
Indeed, the people are a lawless crew—
Why strive I then, Quixotic to reform?
As soon a feather may the waves subdue,
And spiders bind the pinions of the storm.
Why strive I then, Quixotic to reform?
As soon a feather may the waves subdue,
And spiders bind the pinions of the storm.
Yet, 'tis not strange, that kings should lose repute
Consid'ring man's so great a brute.—
Ev'n saints themselves have lost their reputation:
Rome formerly had thirty thousand gods;
And now, I warrant ye, 'tis odds,
They own scarce one through all the Romish nation.
Consid'ring man's so great a brute.—
Ev'n saints themselves have lost their reputation:
Rome formerly had thirty thousand gods;
And now, I warrant ye, 'tis odds,
They own scarce one through all the Romish nation.
Alas! who now believes in sticks and stones,
Old rags, and hair, and marrow-bones?
Old rags, and hair, and marrow-bones?
Saint Agnes, that sweet lady, void of sin,
Was stripp'd, poor gentlewoman, to her skin;
And, for religion, carried to the stews;
When, as the lady was so bare,
God gave her such a quantity of hair,
As reach'd unto her very shoes.
Was stripp'd, poor gentlewoman, to her skin;
And, for religion, carried to the stews;
When, as the lady was so bare,
God gave her such a quantity of hair,
As reach'd unto her very shoes.
When to the bawdy-house arrived the dame,
An angel from above commission'd came,
And spread around her such a heavenly light,
As dazzled every body's sight.
An angel from above commission'd came,
And spread around her such a heavenly light,
As dazzled every body's sight.
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However, a young officer
, a buck,
Wishing prodigiously to have a look,
Wishing prodigiously to have a look,
Dash'd forth, to pierce the middle of the light,
Meaning to violate the dame so good;
Which meaning, when the Devil understood,
He choak'd the wanton rogue out-right.
Meaning to violate the dame so good;
Which meaning, when the Devil understood,
He choak'd the wanton rogue out-right.
Such is the tale! true ev'ry crumb;
Now, no more heeded than Tom Thumb.
Now, no more heeded than Tom Thumb.
| The Works of Peter Pindar [i.e. John Wolcot] | |