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 TWO MICE IN A TRAP. |
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 | The Works of Peter Pindar [i.e. John Wolcot] |  |
ODE TO TWO MICE IN A TRAP.
So, sir, and madam, you at length are taken,
After your dances over cheese and bacon,
And tasting ev'ry dainty in your way;
Now to my question, answer, if ye please—
Speak, did ye make the bacon or the cheese?
What sort of a defence d'ye set up, pray?
After your dances over cheese and bacon,
And tasting ev'ry dainty in your way;
Now to my question, answer, if ye please—
Speak, did ye make the bacon or the cheese?
What sort of a defence d'ye set up, pray?
Thus at free cost to breakfast, dine, and sup!
Ev'n mild Judge Buller ought to hang you up,
So full of the sweet milk of human nature!
What sort of fate, young people, should ye choose?
In purling streams your pretty mouths amuse,
Or feed the cat's fond jaws, that for ye water?
Ev'n mild Judge Buller ought to hang you up,
So full of the sweet milk of human nature!
What sort of fate, young people, should ye choose?
In purling streams your pretty mouths amuse,
Or feed the cat's fond jaws, that for ye water?
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I see you are two lovers, by your eyes;
I hear ye are two lovers by your sighs:
But what avail your looks, or what avail
Your sighs so soft, or what indeed your tears,
Or what your parting agonies and fears,
Since Death must pay a visit to your jail?
I hear ye are two lovers by your sighs:
But what avail your looks, or what avail
Your sighs so soft, or what indeed your tears,
Or what your parting agonies and fears,
Since Death must pay a visit to your jail?
Ay, you may kiss and pant, and pant and kiss,
And put your pretty noses through the wire;
Ay, peep away, sweet sir, and gentle miss;
No more the moon shall mark your am'rous fire
Around the loaded pantry pour the ray,
And guide your gambols with her silver day.
And put your pretty noses through the wire;
Ay, peep away, sweet sir, and gentle miss;
No more the moon shall mark your am'rous fire
Around the loaded pantry pour the ray,
And guide your gambols with her silver day.
Your prison-door now, culprits, let me ope—
Now, now! you're off! it is a lucky hop.
Now, now! you're off! it is a lucky hop.
Ye're in the right on't, nimble nymph and swain;
Go, rogues—but if once more I catch you here!—
What then? what then!—why then, I strongly fear,
Ye little robbers, you'll escape again.
Go, rogues—but if once more I catch you here!—
What then? what then!—why then, I strongly fear,
Ye little robbers, you'll escape again.
Thus let me imitate Judge Buller's deeds,
Beneath whose sentence scarce a felon bleeds;
Who, as the fur of foxes trims his gown,
The hand of Mercy lines his heart with down.
Beneath whose sentence scarce a felon bleeds;
Who, as the fur of foxes trims his gown,
The hand of Mercy lines his heart with down.
| The Works of Peter Pindar [i.e. John Wolcot] | |