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 JEALOUSY. |
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 | The Works of Peter Pindar [i.e. John Wolcot] |  |
ODE TO JEALOUSY.
A vaunt, thou squinting hag, whose list'ning ear
Seizes on ev'ry whisper—whose owl's eye,
When Night's dark mantle wraps the silent sphere,
Stares watchful of each form that passeth by!
Seizes on ev'ry whisper—whose owl's eye,
When Night's dark mantle wraps the silent sphere,
Stares watchful of each form that passeth by!
Thou fiend, what bus'ness hast thou here on earth,
Dissension-breeder, from thy very birth?
How much more of the serpent than the dove!
I cannot guess thine errand to this world—
By thee is Nature topsy-turvy hurl'd!
And nearly ruin'd the soft land of Love!
Dissension-breeder, from thy very birth?
How much more of the serpent than the dove!
I cannot guess thine errand to this world—
By thee is Nature topsy-turvy hurl'd!
And nearly ruin'd the soft land of Love!
Speak I but to my neighbour's wife so kind,
And say, ‘Pray how d'ye do, my dearest ma'am?’
Behold, a tempest swells the husband's mind,
Who gives my sweet civility a d*mn:
For, lo, thy wickedness at once adorns
His trembling temples with a brace of horns.
And say, ‘Pray how d'ye do, my dearest ma'am?’
Behold, a tempest swells the husband's mind,
Who gives my sweet civility a d*mn:
For, lo, thy wickedness at once adorns
His trembling temples with a brace of horns.
The instant thou behold'st a married pair,
Adieu, alas! the pleasures of the fair!
Farewel, of Benedick, the wedded bliss!
Scarce canst thou let the honey-moon go by,
When, hark! the keen reproach!—the lady's sigh!
Dead the fond squeeze, and mute the chirping kiss!
Adieu, alas! the pleasures of the fair!
Farewel, of Benedick, the wedded bliss!
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When, hark! the keen reproach!—the lady's sigh!
Dead the fond squeeze, and mute the chirping kiss!
‘Watch him’—thou whisper'st in the woman's ear,
‘Open his letters—pick his pockets, ma'am—
Somewhat will be discover'd, never fear;
Something to dash the monster's cheek with shame.
‘Open his letters—pick his pockets, ma'am—
Somewhat will be discover'd, never fear;
Something to dash the monster's cheek with shame.
‘Ken him amid the harlots at the play;
Nor let your eyes a single moment stray:
He catches a lewd squint, if yours are blinkers:
Make him look straight on, forward to the stage;
And, on refusal, tell him, in a rage,
You'll give him, coach-horse like, a pair of winkers.’
Nor let your eyes a single moment stray:
He catches a lewd squint, if yours are blinkers:
Make him look straight on, forward to the stage;
And, on refusal, tell him, in a rage,
You'll give him, coach-horse like, a pair of winkers.’
| The Works of Peter Pindar [i.e. John Wolcot] | |