University of Virginia Library

Search this document 
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

expand sectionI. 
expand sectionII. 
collapse sectionIII. 
  
  
  
expand section 
expand section 
expand section 
expand section 
expand section 
  
  
  
  
collapse section 
  
expand section 
  
  
  
  
expand section 
  
  
  
  
  
  
A TRANSLATION
  
  
  
  
  
  
expand section 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
expand section 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
expand section 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
expand section 
expand section 
expand section 
expand sectionIV. 


198

A TRANSLATION

Of the preceding Imperial Panegyric on Tea.

The flow'r mehó is not so bright,
And yet it gives the eye delight;
It likewise has a charming smell:
The pines, too, are a pretty fruit,
That much indeed my palate suit,
And much in flavour, too, excel.
Get an old kettle, if you please,
For such a thing is found with ease,
That has three legs—and therefore shows
Its ancient services;—then fill
With water, and, what's best, the rill,
The lucid rill, from melted snows.
Heat in this kettle, to your wish,
The water fit to boil a fish,
Or turn the blackest lobster red;
Pour then the water on the tea,
Then drink it, and 'twill drive, d'ye see,
All the blue devils from your head.
Far from the toil of state affairs
I steal away, to drown my cares,
For which I take of tea a cup;
And then I snap the rich fochu,
Fine to the taste, and to the view;
And then again the tea I sup.
Now on the rare mehó I gaze;
Now of the ancients, with amaze,
I think—and also with delight;

199

And now upon the great Otsén,
The best and frugallest of men,
Who liv'd on pine from morn to night.
With envy on this mighty man I think!
And then I drink:
Then I crack nuts, and eat the kernels too;
Then think on that great gard'ner, great Linfou.
When, lo! I pass from great Linfou
To that great prince, yclept Tchao-tcheou;—
Then upon You-tchouan I ponder:
Thus do I sit, and eat, and drink, and wonder.
The first, my fancy plainly sees
Surrounded by all sorts of trees;
Now tasting this rich fruit, now that so fine:
I mark the second quaffing the rich water;
But, knowing very little of the matter,
Thank Heav'n his vulgar taste was never mine.
I hear, I hear the evening drum,
Sounding aloud, ‘Go to bed, Tom!’
Good me! how pleasant is the starry night!
Lo, on each dish, and silver spoon,
And plate, and porringer, the moon
Peeps through my tent with friendly light.
Now, this is charming, I must own;
My stomach, too, so easy grown!
And now I'll take a nap—thus ends my song,
Compos'd by me (a humble bard) Kien Long.