The Works of Peter Pindar [i.e. John Wolcot] :: :: University of Virginia Library

Child of my love, go forth, and try thy fate:
Few are thy friends, and manifold thy foes!
Whether or long or short will be thy date,
Futurity's dark volume only knows.

Much criticism, alas! will be thy lot!
Severe thine ordeal, I am sore afraid!
Some judges will condemn, and others not:
Some call thy form substantial—others, shade.

Yes, child, by multitudes wilt thou be tried!
Wise men, and fools, thy merits will examine:
Those, through much prudence, may thy virtues hide;
These, through vile rancour, or the dread of famine.

Prov'd will it be indeed (to make thee shrink)
What metal Nature in thy mass did knead:
A melting process will be us'd, I think—
That is to say, large quantities of lead.

By some indeed will nitre's fuming spirit
Be o'er thy form so sweet, so tender, thrown;
Perchance a master hand may try thy merit;
Perchance an imp by folly only known.

Now, now I fancy thee a timid hare,
Started for beagles, hounds, and curs, to chase!
A mongrel dog may snap thee up unfair;
For spite and hunger have but little grace.

249

Long are thy legs (I know), and stout for running;
And many a trick hast thou within thy brain;
But guns and greyhounds are too much for cunning,
Join'd to the rav'nous pack of Thomas Paine!

And now a lamb!—What devils now-a-days
The butch'ring shop of criticism employs!
Each beardless villain now cuts up, and flays!
A gang of wanton, brutal, 'prentice boys!

Ah me! how hard to reach the dome of Fame!
Knock'd down before she gets half way, poor muse!
For many a lout that cannot gain a name,
(Rebus and riddle-maker) now reviews!

Poor jealous eunuchs in the land of taste,
Too weak to reap a harvest of fair praise;
Malicious, lo, they lay the region waste;
Fire all they can, and triumph o'er the blaze!

Too oft, with talents blest, the cruel few
Fix on poor Merit's throat, to stop her breath:
How like the beauteous fruit , that turns of dew
The life ambrosial, into drops of death!

Sweet babe, to Weymouth shouldst thou find thy way!
The king, with curiosity so wild,
May on a sudden send for thee, and say,
‘See, Charly, Peter's child—fine child, fine child:

‘Ring, ring for Schwellenberg—ring, Charly, ring;
Show it to Schwellenberg; show, show it, show it—
She'll say, ‘Got dem de saucy stoopid ting,
I hate more worse as hell what come from poet.’

Yet will some courtiers all at once be glad!
Leeds, Hawksb'ry, Sal'sb'ry, Brud'nell, will rejoice;
Forget how oft thy brothers made them mad,
And echo through the realm the royal voice.

250

And then for me his majesty may send
(Making some people grumble in their gizzards);
With Drake's new place, perchance, thy sire befriend;
First fly-catcher to good Queen Charlotte's lizards !

Called eliquation.

The mortifying powers of dew or rain falling from the manchineel tree, are universally known.

The story of the lizards is as follows:—At a board of green cloth lately, which assembled, as usual, with due decorum, to deliberate on the species of food proper to be given to the lions of Buckingham-house, the solemnity of the meeting was interrupted by the sudden gothic irruption, and self-introduction, of a servan of Sir Francis Drake, one of the honourable board; which servant, a true Devonshire dumplin, opening an ell-wide pair of jaws, exclaimed thus: ‘Zur Vrancis, I'm a zent to ax if yow've a cort enny more vlees —Have ye cort enny, Zur Vrancis?’ The baronet hemmed, winked, nodded, knitted his brows, stared, shrugged up his shoulders, blew his nose, bit his lips at poor numps: but all the face-making hints were thrown away.—‘Why, Zur Vrancis, I zay,’ continued numps, ‘Madam Zwellingburg wanth to know if yow've a nabb'd enny more vlees?’ The board stood amazed!—Sir Francis blushed for the first time. At length, recovering from his confusion, and bidding the fellow in an angry tone, go about his business, he very candidly informed the board, that her majesty had lately received a present of lizards; that she had ordered Mistress Schwellenberg to catch flies for them; but that, to oblige Mistress Schwellenberg, who kindly invited him to dine with her three or four times a week, he promised to assist her in her fly-hunt; in short, to be her deputy fly-catcher, and not first fly-catcher, as the elegy erroneously proclaimeth.

For caught.

Any.

Flies.