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] |  |
429
ODE.
[Though huge to us this flying world appears]
The Poet giveth Philosophy's modest and sublime Picture of Infinity, a Picture damned by the great Folk of the present Day.—Peter maketh a most sagacious Discovery of a Connexion never thought of before, viz. between Folly and Grandeur. —He talketh of Wisdom, and abuseth the Blindness of the Vulgar.—He talketh of Flattery. —He plumply contradicteth the Vulgar, and advanceth unanswerable Reasons.—He descanteth on Mind and Body, proving that a Horsewhip is as necessary for the one as the other.—The wise and elegant Speech of the 'Squire, or elder Brother.—The Poet discovereth Distance to be the Parent of Admiration, and confuteth the Opinion of Mob, by a pantomimical Illustration. —Peter attacketh many great Men, most aptly making Use of a Windmill and a Warming -pan.—He selecteth one great and good Man from the herd of bad.
430
Though huge to us this flying world appears,
And great the bustle of a thousand years;
How small to him who form'd the vast of nature!
One trembling drop of animated water !
And great the bustle of a thousand years;
How small to him who form'd the vast of nature!
One trembling drop of animated water !
‘What are we?—Reptiles claiming Pity's sigh,
Though in our own conceits so fiercely stout;
Nay, such small wights in Providence's eye,
As asks Omnipotence to find us out.’
Though in our own conceits so fiercely stout;
Nay, such small wights in Providence's eye,
As asks Omnipotence to find us out.’
So says Philosophy.—‘Fudge, cant, mere words,
Trash, nonsense, impudence,’ cry kings and lords.
Trash, nonsense, impudence,’ cry kings and lords.
Ah, sirs! believe the sacred truths I tell—
Folly and Grandeur oft together dwell:
Folly with Title oft is seen to skip,
Stare from his eye, and grin upon his lip.
Folly and Grandeur oft together dwell:
Folly with Title oft is seen to skip,
Stare from his eye, and grin upon his lip.
Wisdom descendeth not from king to king,
Or lord to lord, like an estate;
The present day believeth no such thing—
Matters are vastly chang'd of late.
Or lord to lord, like an estate;
The present day believeth no such thing—
Matters are vastly chang'd of late.
What says Experience from her sober school?
‘Nature on many a titled front writes fool.
But, lo! the vulgar world is blind, stone blind;
The beast can see no writing of the kind;
Or if it sees, it cannot read—
Now this is marvellous indeed.’
‘Nature on many a titled front writes fool.
But, lo! the vulgar world is blind, stone blind;
The beast can see no writing of the kind;
Or if it sees, it cannot read—
Now this is marvellous indeed.’
Hark to the voice of Flatt'ry! thus she sings—
‘Gods of the earth are emp'rors, popes, and kings;
Godlings, our dukes and earls, and such fine folk.’
And thus the liar Flatt'ry sung of yore;
The fascinated million cry'd encore,
For Wisdom was too young to smell the joke.
‘Gods of the earth are emp'rors, popes, and kings;
Godlings, our dukes and earls, and such fine folk.’
And thus the liar Flatt'ry sung of yore;
The fascinated million cry'd encore,
For Wisdom was too young to smell the joke.
Wide was the sphere of Ignorance, alas!
And faint, too faint, of Truth's young sun the ray;
Too feeble through th' immense of gloom to pass,
And beaming chase a world of fog away.
And faint, too faint, of Truth's young sun the ray;
431
And beaming chase a world of fog away.
Ye Vulgar cry, ‘Great men are wondrous wise.’—
Whoever told you so, told arrant lies:
It cannot be.—Not! why?—Hear me, pray,
They are so dev'lish lazy, let me say.
Whoever told you so, told arrant lies:
It cannot be.—Not! why?—Hear me, pray,
They are so dev'lish lazy, let me say.
The mind wants lusty flogging, to be great:
To use a vulgar phrase, ‘The mind must sweat.’
Now men of worship will not sweat the mind;
Meat, clothes, and pleasure, come without, they find.
To use a vulgar phrase, ‘The mind must sweat.’
Now men of worship will not sweat the mind;
Meat, clothes, and pleasure, come without, they find.
What man will make a drayhorse of the soul,
To drag from Science's hard quarry, stone,
Who really wanteth nothing from the hole—
A toil which therefore may be let alone?
To drag from Science's hard quarry, stone,
Who really wanteth nothing from the hole—
A toil which therefore may be let alone?
Th' idea seems so wondrously uncouth,
As maketh ev'ry elder brother start;
Who openeth thus his widely-grinning mouth,
‘Fine fun, indeed, for me to drag a cart!
As maketh ev'ry elder brother start;
Who openeth thus his widely-grinning mouth,
‘Fine fun, indeed, for me to drag a cart!
‘Let younger brothers join it, if they please;
Old Square-toes, thank my God, has caught my fleas.’
Old Square-toes, thank my God, has caught my fleas.’
Suppose ye want a fine strong fellow?—speak,
Where for this fine strong fellow would ye seek?
‘Seek! seek a drayman,’ with one voice ye cry;
‘A chairman or a ploughman, to be sure;
Men who a constancy of toil endure;
Such are the fellows that we ought to try.’
Where for this fine strong fellow would ye seek?
‘Seek! seek a drayman,’ with one voice ye cry;
‘A chairman or a ploughman, to be sure;
Men who a constancy of toil endure;
Such are the fellows that we ought to try.’
This then is granted—well then, don't ye find
Some likeness 'twixt the body and the mind?
Some likeness 'twixt the body and the mind?
Distance has wonderful effects indeed;
But, sirs, this is not ev'ry body's creed:
Mob is not in the secret—that's the case;
Mob deemeth great men gods!—yes, ev'ry where,
Far off, or near.
Now let a short remark or two take place.
But, sirs, this is not ev'ry body's creed:
Mob is not in the secret—that's the case;
Mob deemeth great men gods!—yes, ev'ry where,
Far off, or near.
Now let a short remark or two take place.
432
First, I assure you that things are not so;
By G*d, they are not gods.—I pray ye, go
To pantomimes, where fine cascades and fields,
And rocks, a huge delight to Wonder yields:
By G*d, they are not gods.—I pray ye, go
To pantomimes, where fine cascades and fields,
And rocks, a huge delight to Wonder yields:
Approach them—what d'ye find the frowning rocks?
Lord! what imagination really shocks!
Black pairs of breeches, scarcely worth a groat:
What are the fields so flourishing? green baize,
The objects of your most astonish'd gaze:
What the cascade? a tinsel petticoat,
And tinsel gown upon a windlass turning
The fields and rocks so nat'rally adorning.
Lord! what imagination really shocks!
Black pairs of breeches, scarcely worth a groat:
What are the fields so flourishing? green baize,
The objects of your most astonish'd gaze:
What the cascade? a tinsel petticoat,
And tinsel gown upon a windlass turning
The fields and rocks so nat'rally adorning.
Great men, I've said it, often are great fools,
Great sycophants, great swindlers, and great knaves;
Too often bred in Tyranny's dark schools,
Happy to see the under-world their slaves.
Great men, at diff'rent times, are diff'rent too;
More so when int'rest is the game in view.
Great sycophants, great swindlers, and great knaves;
Too often bred in Tyranny's dark schools,
Happy to see the under-world their slaves.
Great men, at diff'rent times, are diff'rent too;
More so when int'rest is the game in view.
A windmill and a warming-pan, no doubt,
Are most unlike each other in their nature;
Yet, trust me, the same man, in place and out,
Is to the full as opposite a creature.
Are most unlike each other in their nature;
Yet, trust me, the same man, in place and out,
Is to the full as opposite a creature.
Yet some great men are good!—and, by mischance,
Their eyes on mis'ry will not always glance;
As, for example, Richmond's glorious grace,
A duke of most unquestionable merit,
With Merc'ry's cunning, and dread Mars's spirit,
Who took the Ordnance, a tremendous place!
Their eyes on mis'ry will not always glance;
As, for example, Richmond's glorious grace,
A duke of most unquestionable merit,
With Merc'ry's cunning, and dread Mars's spirit,
Who took the Ordnance, a tremendous place!
This Duke of Thunder is for ever spying;
To find out objects of sheer merit, trying:
How happy too, if objects of distress;
Thus is his Grace of Guns ador'd by all;
For this, where'er he rides, both great and small,
Him and his horse, with eyes uplifted, bless.
To find out objects of sheer merit, trying:
How happy too, if objects of distress;
Thus is his Grace of Guns ador'd by all;
For this, where'er he rides, both great and small,
Him and his horse, with eyes uplifted, bless.
433
This Turenne
would be sorry, very sorry,
Should one pale form of want his eye escape:
‘No,’ cries his grace, ‘Misfortune shall not worry,
Whilst I a sixpence for the poor can scrape,’
How much like majesty in Windsor town,
Hunting for Pity's objects up and down!
Should one pale form of want his eye escape:
‘No,’ cries his grace, ‘Misfortune shall not worry,
Whilst I a sixpence for the poor can scrape,’
How much like majesty in Windsor town,
Hunting for Pity's objects up and down!
Yet since distress has 'scap'd his grace's eye,
The muse o'er Tilb'ry Fort shall breathe a sigh.
Yet ere on Tilb'ry Fort we drop a tear,
Lo! with a tale we treat the public ear—
Relate a pretty story of his grace:
Much will the tale his grace's soul display—
Happ'ning ('tis said) at Goodwood on a day—
'Twill put a smile or frown on ev'ry face.
The muse o'er Tilb'ry Fort shall breathe a sigh.
Yet ere on Tilb'ry Fort we drop a tear,
Lo! with a tale we treat the public ear—
Relate a pretty story of his grace:
Much will the tale his grace's soul display—
Happ'ning ('tis said) at Goodwood on a day—
'Twill put a smile or frown on ev'ry face.
| The Works of Peter Pindar [i.e. John Wolcot] | |