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] | ||
ODE II.
The Poet correcteth the Muse's Warmth, who beginneth with little less than calling names— Hinteth at some academic Giants—And concludeth with a Pair of apt and elegant Similies.
‘Tagrags and bobtails of the sacred brush!’—
For Heaven's sake, Muse, be prudent:—
Hush! hush! hush!
The great R. A.'s, so jealous of their fame,
Will all declare, of them we make a game;
And then, the Lord have mercy on our skins!
For Heaven's sake, Muse, be prudent:—
Hush! hush! hush!
The great R. A.'s, so jealous of their fame,
Will all declare, of them we make a game;
And then, the Lord have mercy on our skins!
Think what a formidable phalanx, Muse,
Strengthen'd by Messieurs Garvay, and Rigaud, and Co.
How dangerous such a body to abuse!
Strengthen'd by Messieurs Garvay, and Rigaud, and Co.
How dangerous such a body to abuse!
Then there's among the academic crew,
A MAN that made the President look blue;
Brandish'd his weapon—with a whirlwind's forces,
Tore by the roots his flourishing discourses;
And swore his own sweet Irish howl could pour
A half a dozen such in half an hour.
A MAN that made the President look blue;
Brandish'd his weapon—with a whirlwind's forces,
Tore by the roots his flourishing discourses;
And swore his own sweet Irish howl could pour
A half a dozen such in half an hour.
Be prudent, Muse!—once more I pray—
In vain I preach! th' advice is thrown away:
Ev'n now you turn your nose up with a sneer,
And cry—Lord! Reynolds has no cause to fear:
In vain I preach! th' advice is thrown away:
Ev'n now you turn your nose up with a sneer,
And cry—Lord! Reynolds has no cause to fear:
61
When Barry dares the President to fly on,
'Tis like a mouse, that, work'd into a rage,
Daring most dreadful war to wage,
Nibbles the tail of the Nemæan lion.
'Tis like a mouse, that, work'd into a rage,
Daring most dreadful war to wage,
Nibbles the tail of the Nemæan lion.
Or like a louse, of mettle full,
Nurs'd in some giant's skull—
Because Goliath scratch'd him as he fed,
Employs with vehemence his angry claws,
And gaping, grinning, formidable jaws,
To carry off the giant's head!
Nurs'd in some giant's skull—
Because Goliath scratch'd him as he fed,
Employs with vehemence his angry claws,
And gaping, grinning, formidable jaws,
To carry off the giant's head!
The Works of Peter Pindar [i.e. John Wolcot] | ||