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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| XIII. | ODE XIII. |
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 | The Works of Peter Pindar [i.e. John Wolcot] |  |
ODE XIII.
The Poet exhibiteth the Inconstancy of the World, by a most elegant Comparison of a Flock of Starlings.
Young artists, it may so fall out,
That folks shall make a grievous rout;
Follow you—praise your painting to the skies;
When, probably, a ribband (fie upon it!)
A feather, or a tawdry bonnet,
Caught, by its glare, their wonder-spying eyes.
Therefore, don't thence suppose that you inherit
Mountains of unexampled merit;
That always you shall be pursu'd,
And like a wondrous beauty woo'd.
That folks shall make a grievous rout;
Follow you—praise your painting to the skies;
When, probably, a ribband (fie upon it!)
A feather, or a tawdry bonnet,
Caught, by its glare, their wonder-spying eyes.
Therefore, don't thence suppose that you inherit
Mountains of unexampled merit;
That always you shall be pursu'd,
And like a wondrous beauty woo'd.
Great is the world's inconstancy, God knows!—
Fame, like the ocean, ebbs, as well as flows;
Next year the million pitches on a ruff,
A balloon cap—a shawl—a muff;—
For you, no longer cares a single rush,
Following some other brother of the brush.
To raise to nobler flights the Muse's wing,
A simile's a very pretty thing;
To whose sweet aid I'm oft an humble debtor,
T'illustrate with more force the thing I mean;—
And if the simile be neat and clean,
Tant mieux—that is—so much the better.
Fame, like the ocean, ebbs, as well as flows;
Next year the million pitches on a ruff,
A balloon cap—a shawl—a muff;—
For you, no longer cares a single rush,
Following some other brother of the brush.
To raise to nobler flights the Muse's wing,
A simile's a very pretty thing;
To whose sweet aid I'm oft an humble debtor,
T'illustrate with more force the thing I mean;—
And if the simile be neat and clean,
Tant mieux—that is—so much the better.
Therefore, young folks, as there's a great deal in't,
Accept one just imported from the mint.
You've seen a flock of starlings, to be sure,
A hundred thousand in a mess, or more;
Who fortunately having found
A lump of horse-litter upon the ground,
Down drops the chattering cloud upon the dung,
Then, Lord, what doings! Heav'ns, what admiration!
What joy, what transport 'midst the speckled nation.
How busy ev'ry beak, and ev'ry tongue!
All talking, gabbling, but none list'ning,
Just like a group of gossips at a christ'ning;—
Let but a cowdab show its grass-green face,
They're up, without so much as saying grace:
And lo! the busy flock, around it pitches!
Just as upon the lump before,
They gabble, wonder, and adore!
And equal brother Martyn's speeches.
These starlings show the world, with great propriety,
Mad as March hares, or curlews for variety.
Accept one just imported from the mint.
78
A hundred thousand in a mess, or more;
Who fortunately having found
A lump of horse-litter upon the ground,
Down drops the chattering cloud upon the dung,
Then, Lord, what doings! Heav'ns, what admiration!
What joy, what transport 'midst the speckled nation.
How busy ev'ry beak, and ev'ry tongue!
All talking, gabbling, but none list'ning,
Just like a group of gossips at a christ'ning;—
Let but a cowdab show its grass-green face,
They're up, without so much as saying grace:
And lo! the busy flock, around it pitches!
Just as upon the lump before,
They gabble, wonder, and adore!
And equal brother Martyn's speeches.
These starlings show the world, with great propriety,
Mad as March hares, or curlews for variety.
| The Works of Peter Pindar [i.e. John Wolcot] | |