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

Oh! with what freedom have ye treated kings!
Say, did ye not equip their backs with wings,
Yet cruelly cut off their heads for flying?
Alas! so lately did ye kings adore!
Now 'tis a wolf, a lion, a wild boar—
A hypocrite, a thing of theft and lying.

What folly to create the hungry kite,
Yet quarrel with his appetite and claws;
Or grumble at the tiger's ravenous bite,
Yet give the savage such a pair of jaws!

For ever are ye plung'd in mad extremes!
Let Common Sense, then, rouse you from your dreams.
Grandeur, I own, seems much increas'd in size;
Much gaudier too her dress to mortal eyes.

The lofty lords and ladies of our isle,
Enough to make a grave old Tom cat smile,
Must ev'ry thing, forsooth, in style enjoy;
And if to Margate doctors bid them go,
By sea, to purify from head to toe,
Turn up their dainty noses at a hoy.

‘Foh! in a hoy, the filthy thing, embark!
Loaded with beasts of all kind—Noah's ark!’—

So nice! that, had they by good chance been born
When Captain Noah put his wife on board,
With all his other live stock, they had sworn
To go together boldly to the Lord;
That is to say, be drown'd!—bid life adieu,
Sooner than sail with such a stinking crew.

Yet let me add—not all the great are nice;
Not all by pride are tainted, the vile vice—
No! witness our good k--- and our good q---,
Lord love 'em!—our most humble q--- and k---
Can, gracious, stoop to any little thing,
However humble, not however mean.

Heav'ns bless their pretty, goodly, greasy graces!
I've seen them bolt fat bacon at the races;
On Ascot course, devour such loads of ham,
And wash it down, so dainty, with a dram!

How simple! like to many an ancient king,
That roasted royal dinners by a string,
And turn'd the royal rapier to a spit:
Though full of magnanimity, could stoop
To boil, in their grand helmets, beef and soup,
And eat from thence, so great their saving wit!

When good prince ------ deign'd visit our small isle,
Grand soul! he came in very humble style—
Cut no huge figure—made no mighty flash:
Two shirts belong'd unto the princely lad;
'Twas all the linen treasure that he had,
Which poor old Mother Davies us'd to wash;

Goody of Richmond! mother to the man
Who strikes with rev'rent awe the Eton clan.

‘Dear prince,’ quoth Mother Davies, ‘many a time
The lad in linen was so wondrous short,
I've made 'n wait until I clean'd the grime,
To make 'n, like a Christian, go to court.

‘Yes, on my thorn there, many and many an eye
Hath seen his honour's linen hang to dry;
But soon, indeed, t'increase his little store,
His sister, madam, made a couple more.’

But to return—folks thought strange things of yore,
When no absurdity Belief could shock;
When gossip Prejudice put in her oar,
To scull the simple mind on Error's rock.

What thousands thought that kings and queens eat gold!
That beef and mutton was too coarse a fare;
And that their bodies were so finely soul'd,
They breath'd a fluid beyond vulgar air.

Could not conceive that air so gross and common,
Entering a dog's and cat's, and monkey's nose,
Inflated a queen's lungs, so great a woman;
Or king's, whom such rare particles compose.
Yes! 'tis confess'd that Folly rul'd mankind—
'Twas once the same with me the bard, I find.

I grant that I, in life's more early day,
Deem'd kings young God-almighties—form'd for sway;
The universe, fee simple—all their own:
Though now I think the people claim a right
To somewhat rather larger than a mite;
Nay, that we should ev'n halve it with the throne.

I cry'd, ‘Nought's little which great kings approve;
Kings turn, like Midas, all they touch to gold—
Witness Lord Hawk'sb'ry, turn'd, by royal love,
From Jenkinson, a clod of meanest mould.’
Witness the once poor Rose, though now a lord,
Great at the Treas'ry's honourable board.

What is there in a fog? ‘Nought! nought!’ ye cry.
To me a fog was once important—why?
Immortal Cæsar cloth'd the fog with glory!
How, in the name of wonder—read the story.

The name of this young Strelitz man or prince is absolutely forgotten; but he is, or was, full brother to our most gracious queen.

Dr. Davies, the present provost of Eton college.