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] |  |
255
ODE II.
Say to the king (but with profound respect,
For who would manners unto kings neglect?),
‘Dread sir, to hospitals you little grant,
Your magic name supplying every want—
And then how seldom 'tis you give a treat!
And then your mutton, veal, and beef, you kill,
The stomachs of your favoured few to fill—
And butchers swear 'tis very pretty meat.
For who would manners unto kings neglect?),
‘Dread sir, to hospitals you little grant,
Your magic name supplying every want—
And then how seldom 'tis you give a treat!
And then your mutton, veal, and beef, you kill,
The stomachs of your favoured few to fill—
And butchers swear 'tis very pretty meat.
‘And lo, you kill your own delightful lambs;
And beat old Bakewell in the breed of rams,
And never wish to keep a thing for finery:
Thus are parterres of Richmond and of Kew
Dug up for bull and cow and ram and ewe,
And Windsor Park, so glorious, made a swinery.
And beat old Bakewell in the breed of rams,
And never wish to keep a thing for finery:
Thus are parterres of Richmond and of Kew
Dug up for bull and cow and ram and ewe,
And Windsor Park, so glorious, made a swinery.
‘And lo, your dairy thriving, let me say,
As not one drop of milk is giv'n away—
So says your little dairy maid so sweet,
Whose beauties many a smile so gracious meet;
And smiling like the blooming May,
Who shows the milk-score ev'ry day.
How then can majesty be poor?
Your chests, sir, must be running o'er.
As not one drop of milk is giv'n away—
So says your little dairy maid so sweet,
Whose beauties many a smile so gracious meet;
And smiling like the blooming May,
Who shows the milk-score ev'ry day.
How then can majesty be poor?
Your chests, sir, must be running o'er.
‘Your oratorios, that expenses bred,
And Duke of Cumberland , so dear, are dead,
That gave ('tis said) your majesty much pain—
The nation kindly paid your doctors' bills,
I mean the Willisses for toil and pills,
That brought you to your wisdom, sire, again—
Then how can majesty be poor?
Your coffers must be running o'er.
And Duke of Cumberland , so dear, are dead,
That gave ('tis said) your majesty much pain—
The nation kindly paid your doctors' bills,
I mean the Willisses for toil and pills,
That brought you to your wisdom, sire, again—
256
Your coffers must be running o'er.
‘Cabbage and carrot without end,
The Windsor gard'ners daily send;
Proud that their vegetables load the board
Of Britain's high and mighty lord!
The Windsor gard'ners daily send;
Proud that their vegetables load the board
Of Britain's high and mighty lord!
‘Of this, their glad posterity shall boast;
For such an honour never should be lost—
Thus shall they cry in triumph to their neighbours,
Crown'd were our great great great forefathers' labours;
Whose praise through Fame's long trumpet ever rings,
For giving cabbages to kings!
For such an honour never should be lost—
Thus shall they cry in triumph to their neighbours,
Crown'd were our great great great forefathers' labours;
Whose praise through Fame's long trumpet ever rings,
For giving cabbages to kings!
‘Presents of ev'ry sort of thing are made,
Without the slightest danger of offending
Either from gentlemen, or men in trade;
Your majesties are both so condescending—
Folks for acceptance never beg and pray:
For presents never yet were turn'd away.
Without the slightest danger of offending
Either from gentlemen, or men in trade;
Your majesties are both so condescending—
Folks for acceptance never beg and pray:
For presents never yet were turn'd away.
‘People meet much encouragement indeed,
For sending rarities and pretty things;
Although such rarities you do not need—
Such is the sweet humility of kings.
Then how can majesty be poor?
Your coffers must be running o'er.
For sending rarities and pretty things;
Although such rarities you do not need—
Such is the sweet humility of kings.
Then how can majesty be poor?
Your coffers must be running o'er.
‘Card-entertainment 'tis you chiefly give,
By which the chandlers scarce can live—
For soon as e'er you leave the little rout,
The candles are immediately blown out!
So quickly seized on by some candle-shark,
Ladies and gentlemen are in the dark .
Where what has happen'd, Heav'n alone can tell,
As darkness oft turns pimp t'undo a belle.’
By which the chandlers scarce can live—
For soon as e'er you leave the little rout,
The candles are immediately blown out!
So quickly seized on by some candle-shark,
Ladies and gentlemen are in the dark .
257
As darkness oft turns pimp t'undo a belle.’
| The Works of Peter Pindar [i.e. John Wolcot] | |