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 |
 | I. |
| II. |
 | III. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
| IV. |
 | The Works of Peter Pindar [i.e. John Wolcot] |  |
200
ODE TO COFFEE.
In the Manner of Kien Long.
Delicious berry, but, ah! best
When from the Eastern Ind, not West;
Nought richer is, I think, than thee:—
Into a roaster, with my hand,
I put thee, and then o'er thee stand,
And then I catch thy smell with glee.
When from the Eastern Ind, not West;
Nought richer is, I think, than thee:—
Into a roaster, with my hand,
I put thee, and then o'er thee stand,
And then I catch thy smell with glee.
And now I shake thee round about;
And, when turn'd brown, I take thee out,
And then I put thee in a mill;
And, when to powder thou art crush'd,
Into a tin pot thou art push'd,
To feel the boiling smoking rill.
And, when turn'd brown, I take thee out,
And then I put thee in a mill;
And, when to powder thou art crush'd,
Into a tin pot thou art push'd,
To feel the boiling smoking rill.
And now from my tin pot's long nose
The fragrant fluid sweetly flows;
And now I put the lily cream,
And sugar too, the best of brown;
And, happy, now I gulp thee down
Keeping my nose upon the steam.
The fragrant fluid sweetly flows;
And now I put the lily cream,
And sugar too, the best of brown;
And, happy, now I gulp thee down
Keeping my nose upon the steam.
On Hastings now my senses work;
And now on virtuous Edmund Burke,
Who calmly let Sir Thomas 'scape:
And then unto myself I say,
‘Is Honour dead? ah, well-a-day!’
And then my mouth begins to gape.
And now on virtuous Edmund Burke,
Who calmly let Sir Thomas 'scape:
And then unto myself I say,
‘Is Honour dead? ah, well-a-day!’
And then my mouth begins to gape.
Now on Sir Joseph Banks I ponder,
And now at his rare merit wonder,
In flies and tadpoles deep;
And now to many a drowsy head
I hear the drowsy Blagdon read,
And then I fall asleep.
And now at his rare merit wonder,
In flies and tadpoles deep;
201
I hear the drowsy Blagdon read,
And then I fall asleep.
| The Works of Peter Pindar [i.e. John Wolcot] | |