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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PROËMIUM TO THE MAGPIE AND ROBIN RED-BREAST. |
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 | The Works of Peter Pindar [i.e. John Wolcot] |  |
237
PROËMIUM TO THE MAGPIE AND ROBIN RED-BREAST.
How varied are our tastes; Dame Nature's plan,
All for wise reasons, since the world began:
Yes, yes, the good old lady acted right:
Had things been otherwise, like wolves and bears,
We all had fall'n together by the ears—
One object had produc'd an endless fight.
All for wise reasons, since the world began:
Yes, yes, the good old lady acted right:
Had things been otherwise, like wolves and bears,
We all had fall'n together by the ears—
One object had produc'd an endless fight.
Nettles had strew'd life's path instead of roses;
And multitudes of mortal faces,
Printed with histories of bloody noses,
Had taken leave of absence of the Graces.
And multitudes of mortal faces,
Printed with histories of bloody noses,
Had taken leave of absence of the Graces.
Now interrupting not each other's line,
Your ride your hobby-horse, and I ride mine—
You press the blue-ey'd Chloe to your arms,
And I the black-ey'd Sappho's browner charms:
Thus situated in our diff'rent blisses,
We squint not envious on each other's kisses.
Your ride your hobby-horse, and I ride mine—
You press the blue-ey'd Chloe to your arms,
And I the black-ey'd Sappho's browner charms:
Thus situated in our diff'rent blisses,
We squint not envious on each other's kisses.
Yet are there some exceptions to this rule:
We meet with now and then a stubborn fool,
Dragooning us into his predilections;
As though there was no diff'rence in affections,
And that it was the booby's firm belief,
Pork cannot please, because he doats on beef!
Again—how weak the ways of some, and sad!
One would suppose the man-creation mad.
We meet with now and then a stubborn fool,
Dragooning us into his predilections;
As though there was no diff'rence in affections,
And that it was the booby's firm belief,
Pork cannot please, because he doats on beef!
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One would suppose the man-creation mad.
Lo! this poor fellow, folly-drunk, he rambles,
And flings himself into Misfortune's brambles,
In full pursuit of Happiness's treasure;
When, with a little glance of circumspection,
A mustard grain of sense—a child's reflection—
The fool had cours'd the velvet lawn of pleasure.
And flings himself into Misfortune's brambles,
In full pursuit of Happiness's treasure;
When, with a little glance of circumspection,
A mustard grain of sense—a child's reflection—
The fool had cours'd the velvet lawn of pleasure.
Idly he braves the surge, and roaring gale;
When Reason, if consulted with a smile,
Had tow'd through summer seas his silken sail,
And sav'd a dangerous and Herculean toil.
When Reason, if consulted with a smile,
Had tow'd through summer seas his silken sail,
And sav'd a dangerous and Herculean toil.
Yes, as I've somewhere said above, I find,
That many a man has many a mind.
That many a man has many a mind.
How I hate Drunkenness, a nasty pig!
With snuff-stain'd neckcloth, without hat or wig,
Reeling and belching wisdom in one's face!
How I hate Bully Uproar from my soul,
Whom nought but whips and prisons can control,
Those necessary implements of grace!
With snuff-stain'd neckcloth, without hat or wig,
Reeling and belching wisdom in one's face!
How I hate Bully Uproar from my soul,
Whom nought but whips and prisons can control,
Those necessary implements of grace!
Yet altars rise to Drunkenness and Riot—
How few to mild Sobriety and Quiet!
How few to mild Sobriety and Quiet!
Thou art my goddess, Solitude—to thee,
Parent of dove-ey'd Peace, I bend the knee!
O with what joy I roam thy calm retreat,
Whence soars the lark amid the radiant hour,
Where many a varied, chaste, and fragrant flow'r
Turns coyly from rogue Zephyr's whisper sweet!
Blest imp! who wantons o'er thy wide domain,
And kisses all the beauties of the plain:
Parent of dove-ey'd Peace, I bend the knee!
O with what joy I roam thy calm retreat,
Whence soars the lark amid the radiant hour,
Where many a varied, chaste, and fragrant flow'r
Turns coyly from rogue Zephyr's whisper sweet!
Blest imp! who wantons o'er thy wide domain,
And kisses all the beauties of the plain:
Where, happy, mid the all-enlivening ray,
The insect nations spend the busy day,
Wing the pure fields of air, and crawl the ground;
Where, idle none, the Jew-like myriads range,
Just like the Hebrews at high 'Change,
Diffusing hum of Babel-notes around!
The insect nations spend the busy day,
Wing the pure fields of air, and crawl the ground;
Where, idle none, the Jew-like myriads range,
Just like the Hebrews at high 'Change,
Diffusing hum of Babel-notes around!
239
Where Health so wild and gay, with bosom bare,
And rosy cheek, keen eye, and flowing hair,
Trips with a smile the breezy scenes along,
And pours the spirit of content in song!
And rosy cheek, keen eye, and flowing hair,
Trips with a smile the breezy scenes along,
And pours the spirit of content in song!
Thus tastes are various, as I've said before—
These damn most cordially, what those adore.
These damn most cordially, what those adore.
| The Works of Peter Pindar [i.e. John Wolcot] | |