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

Well! in a come—King George to town,
With doust and zweat az nutmeg brown,
The hosses all in smoke;
Huzzain, trumpetin, and dringin,
Red colours vleein, roarin, zingin;
Zo mad simm'd all the voke.

365

PART I.

I promis'd thee, dear Zester Nan,
That thee shudst hear vrom Brether Jan,
About the king wey speed:
And now I zet me down to write,
To tell thee every thing outright,
The whole that I've azeed.

Now meend me, Nan! all Exter town
Was gapin, rennin up and down,
Vath, just leek vokes bewitch'd!
Lord! how they lang'd to zee the king;
To hear un zay zom marv'lous thing!
Leek mangy dogs they itch'd!

Leek bullocks sting'd by appledranes,
Currantin it about the lanes,
Vokes theese way dreav'd and that;
Zom hootin, heavin, soalin, hawlin;
Zom in the mucks, and pellum sprawlin;
Leek pancakes all zo flat.

Hosses and mares, assnegers, moyles,
Leaping the hedges, ditches, stiles,

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Hunderds comm'd in at least;
Gallopin, trattin, spurrin, vallin,
Hallooin, laughin, cryin, squawlin,
Vour mounted 'pon one beast.

The ladies from the windors all
Pok'd vorth their powls, both gert and small;
Ecod, there were a power:
Their hair zo white I'd zexpence stake,
That vrom their powls I'd fairly shake
A dezen zacks o' vlower.

To spoil good vlower a spendthrift crew!
Ould Time wull whitten vast anew,
The locks o'um, never fear;
Bezides, it is a burnin shame,
And making of God's gifts a game,
Considerin corn's so dear.

And yet the perty maids, I vow,
Make me vorgive, I can't tell how,
Thoft 'tis a serious matter:
But what wey zich have I to do?
Vor Joan and Nell, and Madge and Sue,
My mouthe must only water.

But than agan, Iss can't but zay,
Iss could look at mun a whole day,
They look'd so vair and vresh;
Iss long'd to gee zome hearty smacks
Upon their little rosy chacks,
They seem'd zech wholsome vlesh.

Well! in a come—King George to town,
With doust and zweat az nutmeg brown,
The hosses all in smoke;
Huzzain, trumpetin, and dringin,
Red colours vleeing, roarin, zingin;
So mad seem'd all the voke.

Wipin his zweatty jaws and poull,
All over doust we spy'd 'Squire Rolle,
Close by the king's coach trattin:

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Now shovin in the coach his head,
Meaning, we giss'd, it might be zed,
‘The 'squire and king be chattin.’

Now goed the aldermen and may'r ,
Zum wey crapp'd wigs, and zum wey hair,
The royal voke to ken;
When Measter May'r, upon my word,
Pok'd to the king a gert long sword,
Which he pok'd back agen.

Now thoose that round Ould Burnet stood,
All zwear'd it clumzily was dood;
Yet Squirt, the peepel zay,
Brandish'd his gert horse-glysterpipe,
To make un in his lesson ripe,
That took up half a day.

Now down long Vorestreet did they come,
Zum hollowin, and screechin zum;
Now tridg'd they to the dean's,
Becaze the bishop zent mun word,
A could not meat and drink avoord,
A hadn't got the means.

A zaid, ‘that az vor he, poor man,
A had not got a pot nor pan,
Nor spoon, nor knive, nor vork;
That he was weak, and ould, and squeal,
And zeldom made a hearty meal,
And zeldom draed a cork.’

Indeed a was a moderate man,
And zo war all the clargy clan
That with un uz'd to chatter;
Who if a ax'd mun to drink wine
To one the wother they tipp'd the sign,
And begg'd his charming water.

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‘And as vor rooms, why there agen,
A could not lodge a cock nor hen,
They war so small,’ he said;
‘And as vor beds they wudn't do—
In number about one or two,
Vor zelf and Joan the maid.

‘In voolish things a wudn't be cort;
'Twas stoopid to treat vokes for nort;
No, 'twas not his desire:
Prefarment, too, was at an end;
The king wud never more vor'n zend,
To lift'n one peg higher.’

And yet they zay's a man of sense,
Honest and just, but hoardth his pence—
Can't peart wey drink nor meat:
And then, ‘what vor?’ the peeple rail,
‘To greaze a vat old pig in the tail;
Old Weymouth of Longleat!’

Well! to the dean's, bounce in they went,
And all the day in munchin spent,
And guzlin too, no doubt:
And while the gentry drink'd within,
The mob wey brandy, ale, and gin,
Got roarin drunk without.

369

PART II.

Now Vriday morning sheen'd zo bright:
But zome were up bevore 'twas light;
Wey zounds the streets did ring:
‘Lord, Lord, than sose, were yow zo blest,
To zee the show among the rest?
Did you than zee the king?’

Now droo a small back-door wey stairs,
King George went vorth to zay his pray'rs;
A pure and godly sign:
And there he took his spyeglass out,
Star'd up and down, and all about,
And simm'd to zay, ‘Tis vine.’

Vull az an egg was all the church,
Vor voakes were mad as hares in March
And fath it was dam quare,
To zee ould dames wey leathern chacks,
Hoisted upon the fellows' backs—
A penny for a stare.

The queen, she show'd zuch wive-leek care
Zo kind upon un zo to stare;
To whisper'n, and all that!

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And faggins, people leek'd it much,
Zo pleas'd to zee her love vor'n zuch—
To watch'n leek a cat.

Prayers over, now he spy'd the ruff,
And look'd it round and round anuff,
And zoon beginn'd to speak:
Zo zaid, ‘Neat, neat—clean, very clean;
D'ye mop it, mop it , Measter Dean—
Mop, mop it every week?’

‘Sir,’ zaid Dean Buller to'n agen,
‘'Tis not by moppin keep'd zo clean,
What streek'th your royal eye?
Vor, zir, in all our Exter shops,
We never meet wey zich long mops;
Our mops dant reach zo high.

All people join to praise the dean,
He did zo well his zel demean;
No man behav'd more humbler:
Spar'd no expense—bort ev'ry thing—
To please forseth the queen and king;
Vor which, they gid'n a tumbler.

Vor royal voake, so gert withall,
The present simm'd most merty small:
And zo zed all the city:
It was too sneaken, fath and troth—
A poor groat glass between mun both!
No fath! it waz'nt vitty.

Now to the tavern renn'd 'Squire Rolle,
To git the names of every zoul
That wish'd King George to zee :

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The 'squire most kindly told mun too,
How jest leek soldiers they must do—
Bow down, and drap the knee.

And zaid it never shud be miss'd;
That when King George's hand they kiss'd,
Leek vish they must be dum!
And backwards crawl leek crabs away:
Good zound advice—much as to zay,
‘Kings must not zee your b---m.’

Now tridg'd to aldermen and may'r,
'Squire Rolle, a speech vor to prepare,
To thank the king vor commin:
‘Lord!’ cry'd the aldermen and may'r,
‘Why, Measter Rolle, yow make us stare!
'Squire Rolle, why yow be hummin!

‘Why we be only men in trade;
'Tis true a vieow good pounds we've made—
Be tolerably rich:
But thoff we've rak'd up zom vieow pence,
It deth not vollow we've the sence
To make the king a speech.

‘Zend vor rekoreder—put he too't—
We'll warrant Hawtry zoon wull doo't—
Iss, iss, he'll do the feat:
And as the man can logic chop,
The doul's in't if he can't cook up
Zomethin that's short and zweet.’

Now Hawtry took a world o' pain—
He did zo drash about his brain,
That was not over stor'd;
But vath, outleap'd a speech at laste,
That simm'd to please King George's taste,
Speal'd right in ev'ry word.

Now to the rume, to zee the king,
They all march'd off, a clever dring;
And there King George a stude,

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Receiving bows and scrapes and kisses,
Vor all the world leek handsome Misses,
Expecting to be woo'd.

Jolly's a tinker stude 'Squire Rolle,
Sly winking, leek an ould grey owl,
To zee that nort went wrong;
Zo got behend, and wey a frown
He pull'd near twenty o'mun down,
And twenty droad along.

The king stude patient az a stock,
Vour hours at least by Exter clock,
It zafely might be waager'd;
Zom makin their vine rev'rence spurn'd,
The king was nearly overturn'd,
A Gosh! a was so badger'd.

Tagrag and bobtail, all kiss'd hands,
Vrom neighb'ring pearts and voreign lands;
Aye! kissing 'twas anuff—
Had not the hand been tight put on,
It was zo mainly smack'd upon,
The voke had kiss'd it off.

And fath, no woundy fuss was made
'Bout dress amungst the men in trade,
They thort o' no zich thing;
Wey derty sharts and grizly beards,
Much leek a greazy pack o' keards,
They shuffled vore the king.

Now Varmer Tab, I understand,
Drode his legs vore, and catch'd the hand,
And shak'd wey might and main:
‘I'm glad your majesty to zee,
And hope your majesty,’ quoth he,
‘Wull nere be maz'd again.’

‘Maz'd! maz'd! what's maz'd?’ then zed the king;
‘I never heer'd of zich a thing;
What's maz'd?—what, what, my lord?’

373

‘Hem,’ zed my lord, and blow'd his nose;
‘Hem, hem—sir, 'tis, I do suppose,
Sir,—an old Dev'nshire word.’

And than my lord a scratch'd his head,
And, coughing ance or twiss, he zed:
‘I'll try to vend it out;’
And then agen he hemm'd and haad,
And puzlin while his pate a claw'd
King George a tern'd about.

374

PART III.

Zom thort the king wud march about,
And show his zelf a bit, no doubt;
Zee Guildhall, Circus, Castle:
Vor this, Lord Fosky gid'n a shove;
But virm's a rock, nort mad'n move,
Zo 'twas in vain to wrastle.

But this a did—now this was kind—
Knowin the people's longing mind,
And being pretty tall,
A stude 'pon's tiptoes, it is zed;
And, condescending, pok'd his head
Over the bishop's wall.

Zum of the Exter voke suppose
They plainly zeed his royal nose,
And zum his royal eyes;
And, Lord, whatever peart they zeed,
In this, they one and all agreed,
'Twas glorious, gert, and wize.

'Tis zed, and I believe 'tis true,
He gid (but lookin rether blue)
The Hospital a ken:
'Twas all a gid; but than quoth he,
‘I'll zomething gee, my lord, d'ye zee,
When I come here agen.’

This, to be zure, look'd cruel kind
Towards the zick, and lame, and blind;
What's thy opinion, Nan?

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But rat it, theve net zeed a doit;
Zo 'tes no very gert exploit
Of our Samaritan.

Zich perty promises, egosh!
Zeem words o' cuse—a pack o' trosh;
Wind, faith! net one crume better;
I leek to zee voakes dra the puss;
Parlaver is not worth a cuss;
I hate to hear voakes chetter.

But now to please the royal chops,
Presents vall'd in as thick as hops,
Vish, vlesh, and vowl, and vruit;
'Twas who shud zay, ‘I sent the king
Zich, zich, and zich, and zich a thing:’
The vokes were mad to do't.

Now let me tell thee, Zester Nan,
The king's a jolley gentleman,
The queen not very ugly!
Az vor the princesses, sweet souls,
With rosy chucks, and flaxen polls,
They angels look'd so smugly.

Mayhap, yow wud be glad to know
Zom more about the queen, I trow—
I think I've zed anuff;
What voakes in general zay is this:
‘The oman is not much amiss,
And tak'th a power o' snuff.’

But milliners of Exter zwear,
That her's and all her daughters' geer
Was shellings net worth thirty;
That, Lord! they wear'd but little laces,
Their zilks mert blish to show their faces,
Ould-fashion'd, strip'd, and dirty.

Now woundy mad was Measter Mare ,
To think a should a veast prepare,

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Of vlesh, and vowl, and vish;
Of ham, and terkie, gooze, and mustard,
Dumplin, and apple-pie, and custard,
As good az mouthe could wish.

Vor whan unto King George a zends,
To tell'n the aldermen, his vriends,
Wud all be glad to ze'en;
The king no notice tuke, 'tis zaid,
But, leek a pisky, laugh'd and play'd
To push pin wey the queen.

Zo there the meal, vorzooth, was spoil'd,
The bak'd and roast, and vry'd and boil'd;
Oh! 'twas a dismal day;
The zyder, brandy, wine and ale,
The gert gold chair to hold his tail,
Was money droad away.

It, when King George did leave the town,
The aldermen, in red fur gown,
And Mare, vore Guildhall houze,
Vurst havin had a little veeding,
Leek soldiers form'd to show their breeding,
And make their Zenday bows.

The king, he spy'd mun vrom his coach,
Wey faces net pleaz'd over much,
That did un much delight;
The bench keep'd bowin up and down,
Till all the hosses rumps they vound,
And king's were out o' zight.

Than home they lerk'd, and drapt their furs
And tails between their legs, leek curs,
Becaze they war zo zlighted;
But what was ten times worse, poor souls,
Their wives leek devils claw'd their polls,
Becaze they didn't get knighted.

377

POSTSCRIPT.

NOW, Zester Nan, by this yow zee,
What zort of vokes gert people be:
What's cheny thoft, is clome;
And, zester, now I do believe,
That after this yow daan't much grieve,
Becaze yow staid at home.

Theeze once I've made myzelf a vool,
And now I veel my courage cool
For zeeing royal things:
And whan my Bible next I rede,
Zo leet I worship all the breed,
I'll skep the book of Kings.

Mr. Burnet.

His majesty did not, as was expected, enter in full procession the large door of the Abbey; but slipped into a small private one, to the no small mortification of Messieurs Mayor, Alderman, and Cavalcade.

This observation really took place at Exeter, as well as at Salisbury, some years since.

To be presented.

Burnet, the plumber.

Made expressly, at a very great expense: Indeed it did credit to the liberality of the corporation.