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

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

Pindar, Peter (1738-1819)

II.

III.

IV.

['Twas in that month when Nature drear]

THE PRAISE OF MARGATE.

AN ODE OF CONDOLENCE TO GEORGE ROSE, ESQ.

[Whate'er from dirty Thames to Margate goes]

[Now, as our immortal Milton sublimely would have sung:]

[Or, as the no less immortal author of Hudibras would have quaintly said;]

[Again, as the illustrious Butler would have said, or sung:]

[Thus oft it happens that the sky]

SONG.

CORINNA'S EPITAPH.

SONG.

THE WIDOW OF EPHESUS;

THE DRUNKEN FLY.

VERSES ON A FLY

Verses on the Fall of the Statue of Apollo from the Summit of the Organ, on the Head of Shield, as he was playing.

POOR TOM.

THE SHEPHERD'S PIPE.

[Thus, as the flocks amid the valley feed]

A POETICAL EPISTLE TO BENJAMIN COUNT RUMFORD, Knight of the White Eagle, &c. &c.

THE ISLAND OF INNOCENCE;

THE MIDDLESEX ELECTION;

PITT AND HIS STATUE;

LORD B--- AND HIS MOTIONS.

PROH IMPUDENTIAM! AN ODE.

TEMPORA MUTANTUR.

GREAT CRY AND LITTLE WOOL;

AN INSTRUCTIVE EPISTLE TO JOHN PERRING, ESQ. Lord Mayor of London;

THE HORRORS OF BRIBERY;

TRISTIA;

ONE MORE PEEP AT THE ROYAL ACADEMY;

ODES TO THE HEADS.

ANTICIPATION: OR, THE PRIZE ADDRESS;

A SOLEMN SENTIMENTAL, AND REPROBATING EPISTLE TO MRS. CLARKE.

A SECOND SOLEMN, SENTIMENTAL, AND REPROBATING, EPISTLE TO MRS. CLARKE.

CARLTON-HOUSE FETE;

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MARGARET's LAMENTATION.

WHY should yon old Abbey, should'ring
My poor fane with Gothic pride,
Cracking, sinking, falling, mould'ring,
On the back of Marg'ret ride?

What is that huge ruin's merit?
Only fit for housing rats.
Be her guests, with all my spirit,
Hooting owls, and horrid bats!

Why am I to be despis'd,
Why am I to be kept under;
I who once by kings was priz'd?
What's the meaning on't, I wonder?

I whose pow'r could agues charm,
Fits and tooth-aches, cramps and evils;
Satan's wicked self disarm;
Him, the great proud prince of devils.

Lo, that abbey for past years,
At each grand commemoration,
For Directors boasted peers—
Peers the glory of the nation!

Who were my directors? Lo,
Doctor Parsons, Justice Collic;
Arnold and Dupuis and Co.
What a very pretty frolic!

But 'tis said the king commanded,
And the grand Directors fell:
By the king were they disbanded?
Fame will blush the tale to tell.

321

Soon I'll go (for what should hinder?)
To the first of rhiming men;
To that giant Peter Pindar—
He shall hear—and then, and then!!

Peter in his wrath shall rise,
And the scythe of verse prepare;
Lo, I see his lightning eyes!
Lo, his arm of vengeance bare!

Backs of monarchs shall he slice,
As he scorns them so sincerely—
Woman need not ask him twice;
Peter loves the ladies dearly.