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] |  |
TO PETER PINDAR, ESQ.
A thousand frogs, upon a summer's day,
Were sporting 'midst the sunny ray,
In a large pool, reflecting ev'ry face;—
They show'd their gold-lac'd clothes with pride,
In harmless sallies, frequent vied,
And gambol'd through the water with a grace.
Were sporting 'midst the sunny ray,
In a large pool, reflecting ev'ry face;—
They show'd their gold-lac'd clothes with pride,
In harmless sallies, frequent vied,
And gambol'd through the water with a grace.
It happen'd that a band of boys,
Observant of their harmless joys,
Thoughtless, resolv'd to spoil their happy sport;
One phrensy seiz'd both great and small,
On the poor frogs the rogues began to fall,
Meaning to splash them, not to do them hurt.
Observant of their harmless joys,
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One phrensy seiz'd both great and small,
On the poor frogs the rogues began to fall,
Meaning to splash them, not to do them hurt.
Lo, as old authors sing, ‘the stones 'gan pour,’
Indeed an Otaheite show'r:
The consequence was dreadful, let me tell ye;
One's eye was beat out of his head,
This limp'd away, that lay for dead—
Here mourn'd a broken back, and there a belly.
Indeed an Otaheite show'r:
The consequence was dreadful, let me tell ye;
One's eye was beat out of his head,
This limp'd away, that lay for dead—
Here mourn'd a broken back, and there a belly.
Amongst the smitten, it was found,
Their beauteous queen receiv'd a wound;
The blow gave ev'ry heart a sigh,
And drew a tear from ev'ry eye:—
At length King Croak got up, and thus begun—
‘My lads, you think this very pretty fun!
Their beauteous queen receiv'd a wound;
The blow gave ev'ry heart a sigh,
And drew a tear from ev'ry eye:—
At length King Croak got up, and thus begun—
‘My lads, you think this very pretty fun!
Your pebbles round us fly as thick as hops,—
Have warmly complimented all our chops;—
To you I guess that these are pleasant stones!
And so they might be to us frogs,
You damn'd, young, good-for-nothing dogs,
But that they are so hard, they break our bones.’
Have warmly complimented all our chops;—
To you I guess that these are pleasant stones!
And so they might be to us frogs,
You damn'd, young, good-for-nothing dogs,
But that they are so hard, they break our bones.’
Peter! thou mark'st the meaning of this fable—
So put thy Pegasus into the stable;
Nor wanton thus with cruel pride,
Mad, Jehu-like, o'er harmless people ride.
So put thy Pegasus into the stable;
Nor wanton thus with cruel pride,
Mad, Jehu-like, o'er harmless people ride.
To drop the metaphor—the fair
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Whose works thy Muse forbore to spare,
Is blest with talents Envy must approve;
And didst thou know her heart, thou sure wouldst say,
‘Perdition catch the cruel lay!’
Then strike the lyre to Innocence and Love.
Whose works thy Muse forbore to spare,
Is blest with talents Envy must approve;
And didst thou know her heart, thou sure wouldst say,
‘Perdition catch the cruel lay!’
Then strike the lyre to Innocence and Love.
‘Poh, poh!’ cried Satire, with a smile,
‘Where is the glorious freedom of our isle,
If not permitted to call names?’
Methought the argument had weight—
‘Satire,’ quoth I, ‘you're very right’—
So once more forth volcanic Peter flames!
‘Where is the glorious freedom of our isle,
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Methought the argument had weight—
‘Satire,’ quoth I, ‘you're very right’—
So once more forth volcanic Peter flames!
| The Works of Peter Pindar [i.e. John Wolcot] | |