The Works of Peter Pindar [i.e. John Wolcot] :: :: University of Virginia Library

Just forty-five, was Mistress Dinah's age,
My lady's housekeeper—stiff, dry, and sage,
Quoting old proverbs oft, with much formality:
A pair of flannel cheeks compos'd her face;
Red were her eyes, her nose of snipe-bill race,
Which took a deal of snuff, of Scottish quality.

Her small prim mouth bore many a hairy sprig,
Resembling much the bristles on a pig:
She likewise held a handsome length of chin,
Tapering away to sharpness like a pin.

Her teeth so yellow much decay bespake,
As every other tooth her mouth had fled;
Thus, when she grinn'd, they seem'd a garden-rake,
Or sheep's bones planted round a flow'ret bed.

Her hair ('clep'd carrots by the wits) was red,
Sleek comb'd upon a roll around her head;
Moreover comb'd up very close behind—
No wanton ringlets waving in the wind!

Upon her head a small mob-cap she plac'd,
Of lawn so stiff, with large flow'r'd ribbon grac'd,
Yclept a knot and bridle, in a bow,
Of scarlet flaming, her long chin below.

A goodly formal handkerchief of lawn,
Around her scraggy neck, with parchment skin,
Was fair and smooth, with starch precision drawn,
So that no prying eye might peep within.

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Yet had it peep'd, it had espied no swell,
No lovely swell—no more than on a cat;
For, lo! was Dinah's neck (I grieve to tell)
As any tombstone, or a flounder, flat.

Now on this handkerchief so starch and white,
Was pinn'd a Barcelona, black and tight.

A large broad-banded apron, rather short,
Surrounded her long waist, with formal port.

On week-days were black worsted mittens worn;
Black silk, on Sundays, did her arms adorn.

Long, very long, was Mistress Dinah's waist;
The stiff stay high before, for reasons chaste;

A scarlet petticoat she gave to view—
With a broad plaited back she wore a gown,
Of stuff, of yellow oft, and oft of brown,
And oft a damask, well beflower'd with blue.
Moreover, this same damask gown, or stuff,
Had a large sleeve, and a long ruffle cuff.

Black worsted stockings on her legs she wore;
Black leather shoes too, which small buckles bore,
Compos'd of shining silver, also square,
Holding a pretty antiquated air.

Shrill was her voice, that whistled through her beard;
And tunes, at times, were most discordant heard,
Harsh grating on poor John the footman's ear;
Harsh grating on the ears of house-maids too,
Postillion eke, who curs'd her for a shrew,
And kitchen-wench, whom Mis'ry taught to swear.

All, all but Jehu, felt her pow'rful tongue,
Whose happier ear was sooth'd by sweeter song.

No company but Jehu's did she keep,
In horse-flesh, and a coach, profoundly deep;

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My lady's coachman, stout, and young, and ruddy;
Great friends were they!—full oft, indeed, together,
They walk'd, regardless of the wind and weather,
So pleas'd each other's happiness to study.

For Friendship, to a zephyr sinks a storm—
Turns to a pigmy, Danger's giant form—
Nought casts a dread on Friendship's steady eye:
Thus did the couple seek the darkest grove;
Where Silence, and sweet Meditation, rove;
Where Sol, intrusive, was forbid to pry.

Greatly in sentences did she delight,
So pious! putting people in the right;
And often in the pray'r-book would she look—
Where matrimony was much thumb'd indeed,
Because she oft'nest here God's word did read,
The sweetest page in all the blessed book.

All on the Bible too did Dinah pore,
Where chaste Susanna nearly was a wh---,
By wicked elders almost overcome:
King David's actions too did Dinah read,
A man of God's own heart—but call'd indeed,
A wicked fornicating rogue by some.

Of Solomon, admir'd she much the song;
Could read the monarch's wisdom all day long—
And where's the wonder? lo, the gallant Jew,
Of mortal hearts the great queen passion knew:
Thus sung he of the sparrow and the dove,
And pour'd instruction through the voice of Love.

John Bunyan read she too, and Kempis Tom,
Who plainly show'd the way to kingdom-come.

So modest was she, she got turn'd away
Susan the kitchen-wench, for harmless play
With Dick the Driver—likewise harmless Dick,

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Because he took from Susan's lips a kiss,
Because too, Susan gave him up the bliss,
Without a scream, a faint-fit, or a kick.

If John the footman's eye on Lucy leer'd,
My lady's maid, she watch'd him like a cat;
And if the slightest word of love she heard,
Quick in the fire indeed was all the fat—
Off were the couple trundled—man and maid—
John for a rogue, and Lucy for a jade.

If e'er she heard of some forsaken lass,
Who lost, by dire mishap, her maiden fame,
At once she call'd her trollop, minx of brass,
Strumpet, and ev'ry coarse opprobrious name.

Small was the mercy Dinah kept in store
For sinful flesh—the smallest for a wh---.

So modest Dinah! if she saw two cats
Ogling and pawing with their pretty pats,
Kissing and squinting love, with frisking hops;
Fir'd at the action, what would Dinah do?
Slip down her hand, and slily take her shoe,
Then launch in thunder at their am'rous chops.

With pigeons 'twas the same, and other birds—
All who made love, came in for bitter words;
Poor simple souls, amidst the genial ray,
Whom simple Nature call'd to simple play;
But Dinah call'd it vile adulteration,
A wicked, impudent abomination.

It happen'd on a day, that grievous cries,
By Dinah pour'd, created great surprise—
Ill, very ill, in bed, alas! she lay:
A dreadful cholic—her good lady wept,
Gave her rich cordials—to her bedside crept,
When Dinah begg'd that she would go away.

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Down went my lady to the parlour strait,
Fearful that Dinah soon would yield to fate;
And full of sorrow as my lady went,
Sighs for her maid's recovery back she sent.

Lo, Doctor Pestle comes to yield relief—
He feels her pulse—is solemn, sage, and brief;
Prescribeth for the cholic—nought avails;
On Dinah, lo, the dire disorder gains;
Stronger and faster flow the cholic pains,
Fear, trembling, paleness, ev'ry soul assails.

‘Poor Dinah!’ sighs each mouth around the room,
Join'd to a length'ning face of dread and gloom.

At last, poor Dinah pours a death-like groan—
A ghostly terror seizeth ev'ry one:
My lady hears the cry, alas! below—
She sends for Doctor Pestle—Pestle straight
Runs to my lady—‘Doctor, what's her fate?
Speak, is it death, dear doctor, yes, or no?’

‘Not death, but life,’ cries Pestle, ‘forc'd that squall;
A little Jehu's come to light, that's all.’