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] |  |
453
ODE.
[Emp'rors, and popes, and nabobs, mighty things]
Peter giveth a gentle Trimming to the Jackets of foreign Potentates; and a Pair of pretty Fables, by way of Looking-glasses, for their Most High Haughtinesses.
Emp'rors, and popes, and nabobs, mighty things,
I think, too, we may take in foreign kings,
Too often deem their humble makers, slaves;
Now such high folk are either fools or knaves,
Or both together probably—a case
That happens frequently amongst the race.
Methinks now, this is scandalous—'tis hateful—
Wicked, and, what is full as bad, ungrateful.
I think, too, we may take in foreign kings,
Too often deem their humble makers, slaves;
Now such high folk are either fools or knaves,
Or both together probably—a case
That happens frequently amongst the race.
Methinks now, this is scandalous—'tis hateful—
Wicked, and, what is full as bad, ungrateful.
The great of many a continent and isle,
Enough to make the sourest cynic smile,
Or, as the proverb says, ‘make a dog laugh,’
Think honours from themselves arise alone;
Thus are their makers at a distance thrown,
Consider'd as mere mob, mere dirt, mere chaff.
Enough to make the sourest cynic smile,
Or, as the proverb says, ‘make a dog laugh,’
Think honours from themselves arise alone;
Thus are their makers at a distance thrown,
Consider'd as mere mob, mere dirt, mere chaff.
The following Fables then will let them know,
What to us riffraff of the world they owe.
What to us riffraff of the world they owe.
THE DIAMOND PIN AND THE FARTHING CANDLE; A FABLE.
UPON a lady's toilet, full of lustre,
A di'mond pin one night began to bluster;
Full of conceit, like some young flirting girl,
Her senses lost in Vanity's wild whirl:
A di'mond pin one night began to bluster;
Full of conceit, like some young flirting girl,
Her senses lost in Vanity's wild whirl:
Highly disgusted at a farthing candle,
Left by the lady of the broom,
Nam'd Susan, slipp'd into another room,
Something of consequence to handle—
‘You nasty tallow thing,’ exclaim'd Miss Pin,
‘Pray keep your distance—don't stay here, and wink;
I loathe ye—you and all your greasy kin—
Good heav'ns! how horribly you look and stink!’
Left by the lady of the broom,
Nam'd Susan, slipp'd into another room,
Something of consequence to handle—
454
‘Pray keep your distance—don't stay here, and wink;
I loathe ye—you and all your greasy kin—
Good heav'ns! how horribly you look and stink!’
‘Good Lord! Miss Pin,’ Miss Candle quick reply'd,
‘Soften a little that ungrateful pride:
You shine indeed—to this I must agree:
Yes, Miss, you make a very pretty blaze;
But let me tell ye, that your wondrous rays
Owe all their boasted brilliancy to me.’
‘Soften a little that ungrateful pride:
You shine indeed—to this I must agree:
Yes, Miss, you make a very pretty blaze;
But let me tell ye, that your wondrous rays
Owe all their boasted brilliancy to me.’
‘How! Madam Impudence!’ rejoin'd Miss Pin,
First with a frown, and then a scornful grin;
‘I should not, sure, have dreamt of that, Miss Fat!’
First with a frown, and then a scornful grin;
‘I should not, sure, have dreamt of that, Miss Fat!’
‘Susan,’ Miss Candle bawl'd, ‘Susan, come here!
Such saucy language I'll no longer bear:
Susan, come, satisfy the lady's doubt—
Take me away, I say, or blow me out.’
Such saucy language I'll no longer bear:
Susan, come, satisfy the lady's doubt—
Take me away, I say, or blow me out.’
Susan, who, list'ning, heard the great dispute,
By no means could refuse Miss Candle's suit;
So into darkness Susan blew her beam:
‘Now,’ with a sharp sarcastic sneer,
‘Now,’ quoth Miss Candle, ‘now, my dear,
Where is of radiance now your boasted stream?
By no means could refuse Miss Candle's suit;
So into darkness Susan blew her beam:
‘Now,’ with a sharp sarcastic sneer,
‘Now,’ quoth Miss Candle, ‘now, my dear,
Where is of radiance now your boasted stream?
‘Where are your keen and fascinating rays,
Ten thousand of them—such a mighty blaze?’
Miss Di'mond star'd, and star'd, and star'd again,
To find departed radiance, but in vain.
Ten thousand of them—such a mighty blaze?’
Miss Di'mond star'd, and star'd, and star'd again,
To find departed radiance, but in vain.
Quite vanish'd! not a single ray display'd!
Each sparkle swallow'd in the depth of shade!
Each sparkle swallow'd in the depth of shade!
Alter'd, quite alter'd, sadly disappointed,
The bones of her high pride disjointed,
‘I fear,’ quoth Pin, ‘I much mistake my nature.’
‘True,’ answer'd Candle, ‘true, my dear Miss Pin;
Lift not, in future, quite so high your chin,
But show some rev'rence for your blaze-creator.’
The bones of her high pride disjointed,
‘I fear,’ quoth Pin, ‘I much mistake my nature.’
‘True,’ answer'd Candle, ‘true, my dear Miss Pin;
Lift not, in future, quite so high your chin,
But show some rev'rence for your blaze-creator.’
455
THE SUN AND THE PEACOCK;
A FABLE.
A PEACOCK, mounted on a barn one day,
Blest with a quantum sufficit of pride,
All consequence amid the solar ray,
Spread with a strut his circling plumage wide.
Blest with a quantum sufficit of pride,
All consequence amid the solar ray,
Spread with a strut his circling plumage wide.
‘Good morrow,’ quoth the coxcomb, ‘Master Sun;
Your brassy face has greatly been admir'd—
Now pray, Sol, answer me—I'm not in fun—
What is there in it to be so desir'd?
If I have any eyes to see,
And, that I have, is clear to me,
My tail possesses far more splendid grace,
By far more beauty than your worship's face.’
Your brassy face has greatly been admir'd—
Now pray, Sol, answer me—I'm not in fun—
What is there in it to be so desir'd?
If I have any eyes to see,
And, that I have, is clear to me,
My tail possesses far more splendid grace,
By far more beauty than your worship's face.’
The sun look'd down with smiles upon the fowl,
Supposing it at first an owl:
And thus with gravity reply'd, ‘Sir, know,
That though unluckily my worship's face
Seems far beneath your tail in splendid grace,
Still to my face that glitt'ring tail you owe.’
Supposing it at first an owl:
And thus with gravity reply'd, ‘Sir, know,
That though unluckily my worship's face
Seems far beneath your tail in splendid grace,
Still to my face that glitt'ring tail you owe.’
‘Poh!’ quoth the peacock, ‘Master Sun,
Your highness loves a bit of fun.’
‘I beg your pardon,’ answer'd Sol again—
‘And, if you please, I'll condescend to show
How much to me you ev'ry moment owe
The boasted beauties of your waving train.’
Your highness loves a bit of fun.’
‘I beg your pardon,’ answer'd Sol again—
‘And, if you please, I'll condescend to show
How much to me you ev'ry moment owe
The boasted beauties of your waving train.’
‘Agreed, with all my soul,’ the bird reply'd,
In all the full-blown insolence of pride;
‘To credit such a tale I'm not the noddy:
Prove that the glorious plumage I display
Owes all its happy colours to thy ray,
D*m'me I'll tear my feathers from my body.’
In all the full-blown insolence of pride;
‘To credit such a tale I'm not the noddy:
Prove that the glorious plumage I display
Owes all its happy colours to thy ray,
D*m'me I'll tear my feathers from my body.’
The challeng'd Sun in clouds withdrew
His flaming beams from ev'ry view,
And o'er the world a depth of darkness spread:
The bats their churches left, to wing the air;
The cocks and hens and cows began to stare,
And sulky went all supperless to bed;
For not an almanack had op'd its lips
About so very wondrous an eclipse.
His flaming beams from ev'ry view,
And o'er the world a depth of darkness spread:
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The cocks and hens and cows began to stare,
And sulky went all supperless to bed;
For not an almanack had op'd its lips
About so very wondrous an eclipse.
The Peacock too, amongst the rest
Of marv'ling fowl and staring beast,
Turn'd to his feathers with some doubt,
Amaz'd to find his hundred eyes put out;
Indeed all nature did appear as black
As if old Sol had popp'd into a sack.
Of marv'ling fowl and staring beast,
Turn'd to his feathers with some doubt,
Amaz'd to find his hundred eyes put out;
Indeed all nature did appear as black
As if old Sol had popp'd into a sack.
Pleas'd with his triumph, from a cloud,
The Sun, still hiding, call'd aloud,
‘Well! can ye merit to my face allow?
What's now your colour? where your hundred eyes?
The mingled radiance of a thousand dies;
Speak, Master Peacock, what's your colour now?’
The Sun, still hiding, call'd aloud,
‘Well! can ye merit to my face allow?
What's now your colour? where your hundred eyes?
The mingled radiance of a thousand dies;
Speak, Master Peacock, what's your colour now?’
‘What colour!’ quoth the bird, as much asham'd
As courtiers high by loss of office tam'd—
‘To own the truth, much-injur'd Phœbus, know,
I'm not one atom better than a crow.
I see my folly—pity my poor train;
And let thy goodness bid it shine again.’
As courtiers high by loss of office tam'd—
‘To own the truth, much-injur'd Phœbus, know,
I'm not one atom better than a crow.
I see my folly—pity my poor train;
And let thy goodness bid it shine again.’
Tyrants of eastern realms, whose subjects' noses,
Like a smith's vice, your iron pow'r encloses;
Who treat your people just like dogs or swine;
The meaning of my tale, can ye divine?
If not, go try to find it, I beseech ye,
And do not let your angry subjects teach ye.
Like a smith's vice, your iron pow'r encloses;
Who treat your people just like dogs or swine;
The meaning of my tale, can ye divine?
If not, go try to find it, I beseech ye,
And do not let your angry subjects teach ye.
| The Works of Peter Pindar [i.e. John Wolcot] | |