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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 | The Works of Peter Pindar [i.e. John Wolcot] |  |
ODE XIV.
The Great Peter despiseth Frenchmen.
I beg it as a favour, my young folks,
You will not copy, monkey-like the French,
Whose pictures, justly, are all standing jokes,
Whether they represent a man or wench.
If monsieur paints a man of fashion,
Making an obeisance well bred,
The gentleman's a ram-cat in a passion,
His back all crumpled o'er his head:
You will not copy, monkey-like the French,
Whose pictures, justly, are all standing jokes,
Whether they represent a man or wench.
If monsieur paints a man of fashion,
Making an obeisance well bred,
The gentleman's a ram-cat in a passion,
His back all crumpled o'er his head:
79
Or, if he paints a wretch upon the wheel,
And bone-breaking's no trifling thing, G---d knows!
Amidst his pains the fellow's so genteel!
He feels with such decorum all the blows.
Or if a culprit's going to the devil,
Which some folks deem a serious evil
So dégagée you see the man advance,
His arms, hands, shoulders, turn'd-out toes,
Madona-lifted eyes, and cock'd up nose
Proclaim the pretty puppy in a dance.
I've seen a sleeping Venus, I declare,
With hands and legs stretch'd out with such an air!
Her neck and head so twisted on one shoulder,
With such a heav'nly smile, that each beholder
Would swear (disdaining dancing's vulgar track)
The dame was walking minuets on her back!
E'en an old woman yielding up her breath
By means of cholic, stone, or gravel,
How smirkingly she feels the pangs of death;
With what a grace her soul prepares to travel!
And bone-breaking's no trifling thing, G---d knows!
Amidst his pains the fellow's so genteel!
He feels with such decorum all the blows.
Or if a culprit's going to the devil,
Which some folks deem a serious evil
So dégagée you see the man advance,
His arms, hands, shoulders, turn'd-out toes,
Madona-lifted eyes, and cock'd up nose
Proclaim the pretty puppy in a dance.
I've seen a sleeping Venus, I declare,
With hands and legs stretch'd out with such an air!
Her neck and head so twisted on one shoulder,
With such a heav'nly smile, that each beholder
Would swear (disdaining dancing's vulgar track)
The dame was walking minuets on her back!
E'en an old woman yielding up her breath
By means of cholic, stone, or gravel,
How smirkingly she feels the pangs of death;
With what a grace her soul prepares to travel!
A Frenchman's angel is an Opera Punk;
His Virgin Marys—milliners half drunk;
Our blest Redeemer, a rank petît-maitre,
In every attitude and feature;
The humble Joseph, so genteelly made,
Poor gentleman—as if above his trade,
And only fit to compliment his wife—
So delicate! as if he scarcely knew
Oak from deal board—a gimlet from a screw,
And never made a mouse-trap in his life.
His Virgin Marys—milliners half drunk;
Our blest Redeemer, a rank petît-maitre,
In every attitude and feature;
The humble Joseph, so genteelly made,
Poor gentleman—as if above his trade,
And only fit to compliment his wife—
So delicate! as if he scarcely knew
Oak from deal board—a gimlet from a screw,
And never made a mouse-trap in his life.
Think not I wantonly the French attack:—
I never will put Merit on the rack:
No!—yet, I own I hate the shrugging dogs—
I've liv'd amongst them, eat their frogs,
And vomited them up, thank God, again;
So that I'm able now to say,
I carried nought of theirs away,
Which otherwise had made the puppies vain.
I never will put Merit on the rack:
No!—yet, I own I hate the shrugging dogs—
I've liv'd amongst them, eat their frogs,
And vomited them up, thank God, again;
So that I'm able now to say,
I carried nought of theirs away,
Which otherwise had made the puppies vain.
| The Works of Peter Pindar [i.e. John Wolcot] | |