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] |  |
360
THE SONG OF DISAPPOINTMENT:
AN ELEGIAC BALLAD.
Hope whisper'd fine things in my ear;
I believ'd her, though trick is her trade;
She told me that Fortune was near,
Who had always behav'd like a jade.
I believ'd her, though trick is her trade;
She told me that Fortune was near,
Who had always behav'd like a jade.
Great names, little people astound—
How 'witching the title, your Grace!—
My Lord Duke, Lady Duchess, what sound!
Big with honour, and dinner, and place.
How 'witching the title, your Grace!—
My Lord Duke, Lady Duchess, what sound!
Big with honour, and dinner, and place.
In fancy I join'd the duke's table,
Where his Grace so instructively chats;
Despising my garret, that stable,
My joint-stool, and my penn'orth of sprats.
Where his Grace so instructively chats;
Despising my garret, that stable,
My joint-stool, and my penn'orth of sprats.
In fancy I jok'd with his Grace,
And felt a huge torrent of bliss—
Then I flatter'd the duchess's face,
And whisper'd love-stories to Miss .
And felt a huge torrent of bliss—
Then I flatter'd the duchess's face,
And whisper'd love-stories to Miss .
In fancy his Grace I beheld,
Heard his mouth with sound criticism ope;
That mouth most deliciously swell'd
With quotations from Dryden and Pope.
Heard his mouth with sound criticism ope;
That mouth most deliciously swell'd
With quotations from Dryden and Pope.
In fancy I heard him aloud
Read his prologue so sweet to his guests;
Saw wonderment stare from the crowd,
And rapture burst wild from their breasts.
Read his prologue so sweet to his guests;
Saw wonderment stare from the crowd,
And rapture burst wild from their breasts.
361
Now I heard him delightfully thrum;
Now in praise of old music a raver;
Now Handel's huge choruses hum;
Now a critic on crotchet and quaver.
Now in praise of old music a raver;
Now Handel's huge choruses hum;
Now a critic on crotchet and quaver.
In fancy a bonfire I blaz'd;
At my wit heard them call out ‘encore;’
While the room with astonishment gaz'd,
Prepar'd ev'ry moment to roar.
At my wit heard them call out ‘encore;’
While the room with astonishment gaz'd,
Prepar'd ev'ry moment to roar.
But the duke has secreted his face;
To the bard what a terrible blow?
And gone are the smiles of her grace,
And the smiles of each Anguish al-so.
To the bard what a terrible blow?
And gone are the smiles of her grace,
And the smiles of each Anguish al-so.
But I'm not deluded alone;
To another he sadly behav'd:
Doctor Jackson, by promises won,
Cut his curls from his pate, and was shav'd.
To another he sadly behav'd:
Doctor Jackson, by promises won,
Cut his curls from his pate, and was shav'd.
Though the doctor look'd smart with his locks,
Sublime too, and swarthy, and big;
He was told, when a bishop, his flocks
Would expect a full bushel of wig.
Sublime too, and swarthy, and big;
He was told, when a bishop, his flocks
Would expect a full bushel of wig.
A wig was accordingly bought,
As a cauliflow'r large, and as fair;
Where the barber too, blest with good thought,
Wove religion and pomp in each hair.
As a cauliflow'r large, and as fair;
Where the barber too, blest with good thought,
Wove religion and pomp in each hair.
In short, 'twas so solemn a quiz,
So form'd for concerns of the soul;
People scarce could decide on its phiz,
Which look'd wisest, the caxon or jowl.
So form'd for concerns of the soul;
People scarce could decide on its phiz,
Which look'd wisest, the caxon or jowl.
But after this grand operation
Of clipping and wigging, I trow,
Sore balk'd was poor Con's exaltation,
But why—none with certainty know.
Of clipping and wigging, I trow,
Sore balk'd was poor Con's exaltation,
But why—none with certainty know.
362
Some thought Heav'n with the wig was displeas'd;
But people may think as they list:
Others said (with maliciousness seiz'd)
Heav'n hated the pride of the priest.
But people may think as they list:
Others said (with maliciousness seiz'd)
Heav'n hated the pride of the priest.
So the doctor no bishop was made,
Nor at present a bishop is he;
And it also may safely be said,
That a bishop he never will be.
Nor at present a bishop is he;
And it also may safely be said,
That a bishop he never will be.
But the duke too is thwarted I ween;
Who looks up like a hawk to the crown;
But, alas! our good king and good queen
Have never vouchsaf'd to look down.
Who looks up like a hawk to the crown;
But, alas! our good king and good queen
Have never vouchsaf'd to look down.
Now to duke and to duchess adieu;
Adieu to my honours like-wise;
The vision departs from my view,
And Hope, the false flatterer, flies.
Adieu to my honours like-wise;
The vision departs from my view,
And Hope, the false flatterer, flies.
My teeth too are robb'd of sweet picking;
Ah teeth, to good eating attach'd!
And thus have I counted my chicken,
Poor blockhead, before they were hatch'd.
Ah teeth, to good eating attach'd!
And thus have I counted my chicken,
Poor blockhead, before they were hatch'd.
| The Works of Peter Pindar [i.e. John Wolcot] | |