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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ODE TO AN INFORMER. |
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 | The Works of Peter Pindar [i.e. John Wolcot] |  |
119
ODE TO AN INFORMER.
Now is the time, my friend—'tis now or never—
Help, help of government the bold endeavour;
So lately through a deep consumption rubbing,
Prerogative's upon his legs again!
He wields his knotty club with might and main,
For long the land has needed a sound drubbing!
Help, help of government the bold endeavour;
So lately through a deep consumption rubbing,
Prerogative's upon his legs again!
He wields his knotty club with might and main,
For long the land has needed a sound drubbing!
Prerogative, ye Gods! will soon look fierce,
Hunt with his hounds the shops for prints and verse
And find the likenesses of men on high—
Make of the booksellers and bards a hash—
Smell rank rebellion in a star or dash,
And bid the sneering culprit hang or fly.
Hunt with his hounds the shops for prints and verse
And find the likenesses of men on high—
Make of the booksellers and bards a hash—
Smell rank rebellion in a star or dash,
And bid the sneering culprit hang or fly.
Whoever mentions pig, or goose, or pens,
Skim-milk, or corn, or man-traps, cocks, and hens,
Or Frogmore Fête, or charities, or bulse,
The turnkey soon shall feel the culprit's pulse.
Skim-milk, or corn, or man-traps, cocks, and hens,
Or Frogmore Fête, or charities, or bulse,
The turnkey soon shall feel the culprit's pulse.
Whoever says that majesty is rich,
Or calls Dame Schwellenberg a smuggling b---,
Or swears hypocrisy has dwelt in courts,
Blasphemes, speaks treason, and with edge tools sports.
Or calls Dame Schwellenberg a smuggling b---,
Or swears hypocrisy has dwelt in courts,
Blasphemes, speaks treason, and with edge tools sports.
Who says of Wimbledon a slighting word,
Where Pitt, the Punch of Showman Harry, steals
To learn state-tricks, behold the vengeful sword
O'ertaking soon the swiftest pair of heels!
Where Pitt, the Punch of Showman Harry, steals
To learn state-tricks, behold the vengeful sword
O'ertaking soon the swiftest pair of heels!
Who mentions Richmond's courage, or his coals,
Must think upon the stock's ignoble holes.
Must think upon the stock's ignoble holes.
Whoever christens but his dog, Tom Paine
(And many an itching tongue can scarce refrain),
The cur and master shall be brought to shame—
Nay, Tom, a common Christian name for cats,
Must die; and lo, the Hanoverian rats
Already lose the Hanoverian name.
(And many an itching tongue can scarce refrain),
120
Nay, Tom, a common Christian name for cats,
Must die; and lo, the Hanoverian rats
Already lose the Hanoverian name.
The name Tom Paine, should ev'n a parrot cry,
Make out his mittimus, and let him die:
Strike me that bulfinch on the jaw,
That dares to warble ca ira.
God save the king, the world must sing or say;
God save the king, the ballad of the day!
Make out his mittimus, and let him die:
Strike me that bulfinch on the jaw,
That dares to warble ca ira.
God save the king, the world must sing or say;
God save the king, the ballad of the day!
Our dogs shall learn of royalty to bawl,
Our cats, from roof to roof, of Cæsar squall;
The beetles buz with loyalty along—
The very owl ‘God save the king!’ shall learn;
And barn, at midnight, hoot to brother barn;
And bat shall shriek to bat th' inspiring song.
Our cats, from roof to roof, of Cæsar squall;
The beetles buz with loyalty along—
The very owl ‘God save the king!’ shall learn;
And barn, at midnight, hoot to brother barn;
And bat shall shriek to bat th' inspiring song.
What journeyman will dare to mention wages?
Who talk about the hardships of the poor?
Off with the villains to their iron cages,
Where whip-arm'd Justice guards the gloomy door.
Who talk about the hardships of the poor?
Off with the villains to their iron cages,
Where whip-arm'd Justice guards the gloomy door.
Ev'n on a royal horse, or sheep, or cur,
Let subjects, if they dare it, cast a slur?
All that a palace holdeth smells of God:
A page's call is glory to our ears:
A cook's salute a load of honour bears;
Nay, honour dwelleth in a scullion's nod.
Let subjects, if they dare it, cast a slur?
All that a palace holdeth smells of God:
A page's call is glory to our ears:
A cook's salute a load of honour bears;
Nay, honour dwelleth in a scullion's nod.
Shoot all those grumbling rascals, the dissenters,
And hang their hearts, like butchers meat, on tenters;
Fellows that fain would be court gospel-makers:
Impale the goat-fac'd, unbelieving Jews;
And then the knife of Justice to amuse,
Cut out the tongues of all the groaning quakers!
And hang their hearts, like butchers meat, on tenters;
Fellows that fain would be court gospel-makers:
Impale the goat-fac'd, unbelieving Jews;
And then the knife of Justice to amuse,
Cut out the tongues of all the groaning quakers!
Return, return, ye glorious days agen,
When pow'r, the giant, muzzled tongue and pen;
Saw what the soul was thinking, through the eye,
And crush'd it for a treasonable sigh!
When pow'r, the giant, muzzled tongue and pen;
Saw what the soul was thinking, through the eye,
And crush'd it for a treasonable sigh!
121
The voice of Liberty has roar'd too long!
Pull out the wide-mouth'd strumpet's lawless tongue!
Off with the wonted crown that decks her head,
And place the proper fool's-cap in its stead.
Pull out the wide-mouth'd strumpet's lawless tongue!
Off with the wonted crown that decks her head,
And place the proper fool's-cap in its stead.
| The Works of Peter Pindar [i.e. John Wolcot] | |