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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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390

BEHOLD, the guards, so disappointed, mourn!
With jealousy their glorious bosoms burn,
To find by you, dread sirs, usurp'd their places:
‘What! not the regiments of Death be trusted!
By thief-takers, O Jesu! to be ousted!
Thief-catchers gardes de corps unto their graces!’
Thus, thus exclaim the angry men in red,
Who, with their swords and guns, may go to bed.
Gods! how I envy our great folk their joys!
Your tales of house-breakers, those nightly curses;
Of heroes of the heath, Saint Giles's boys;
Hist'ries of pocket-handkerchiefs and purses.
O for minds-royal, what delightful food!
Stories surpassing those of Robin Hood.
Sweet are of slight-hand Barrington the tales;
Of changeful Major Semple, charming too!
Delicious story through each hulk prevails,
Full of instruction, pleasant, sage, and new.
Hence the pure streams of thieving science flow,
Which through your mouths to gaping monarchs go;
And frequently the royal gaze, ye greet
With curious instruments, for robbing mete.
Who would not wish to see the gliding crook,
With whom the purses oft in silence stray?
Who would not on the tools with rapture look,
That from post-chaises snap the trunks away?
Who would not ope false dice, ingenious bones?
A curious speculation, worthy thrones.
Laugh the loud world, and let it laugh again;
The great of Windsor shall such mirth disdain—
In days of yore, dull days, insipid things
Kings trusted only to a people's love
But modern times in politics improve,
And Bow-street runners are the shields of kings.