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] |  |
Sweet is the song of wedded love,
The echo of the turtle dove;
Then who would turn that song to sounds of woe?
Bright are the skies, and calm the scene
Where Hymen holds his halcyon reign;
Then who would bid the howling tempests blow?
What but a ruffian would the spot invade,
To dash the beam of bliss with hellish shade?
The echo of the turtle dove;
Then who would turn that song to sounds of woe?
Bright are the skies, and calm the scene
Where Hymen holds his halcyon reign;
Then who would bid the howling tempests blow?
What but a ruffian would the spot invade,
To dash the beam of bliss with hellish shade?
Doubtless, Adultery's a fat hot-bed;
But what's the produce?—Heaven's a wanton weed.
No buds of promise ope their bloom,
And load the zephyr with perfume!
But what's the produce?—Heaven's a wanton weed.
No buds of promise ope their bloom,
And load the zephyr with perfume!
O Syren of the Cyprian Isle,
Crim. Con. who by a touch and smile
Dar'st lure a lady from a spouse's arms;
Make her desert her babes, her kin,
To listen to the voice of sin,
That praiseth of Variety the charms;
Thy lawless reign at length is o'er,
And rams'-horns frighten man no more.
Crim. Con. who by a touch and smile
Dar'st lure a lady from a spouse's arms;
Make her desert her babes, her kin,
To listen to the voice of sin,
That praiseth of Variety the charms;
Thy lawless reign at length is o'er,
And rams'-horns frighten man no more.
410
Yes! there's an end of all thy wooing,
Thy dove-like billing, fluttering, cooing:
At thee, thy vile companions, ev'ry rake
Shall start with horror, curse thy name,
Fly from thy song of death with shame,
Avoid thee like the fascinating snake
That wily won the world's first madam,
And put that fatal trick on Adam.
Thy dove-like billing, fluttering, cooing:
At thee, thy vile companions, ev'ry rake
Shall start with horror, curse thy name,
Fly from thy song of death with shame,
Avoid thee like the fascinating snake
That wily won the world's first madam,
And put that fatal trick on Adam.
Tell me, where are thy rams' horns now,
To clap upon a husband's brow?
Auckland has broken them to pieces:
And thou shalt soon be put to death;
Unpitied, yield thy forfeit breath,
Except by wicked, wanton Misses,
And wanton youths of our wild nation,
Of prudence less possess'd than passion.
To clap upon a husband's brow?
Auckland has broken them to pieces:
And thou shalt soon be put to death;
Unpitied, yield thy forfeit breath,
Except by wicked, wanton Misses,
And wanton youths of our wild nation,
Of prudence less possess'd than passion.
By rams' horns Jericho fell down,
A very notable old town;
Yes, rams' horns laid the lovely city low:
Thus rams' horns also to the earth
Bring down the men of lofty birth,
And force them with humility to bow.
Look at Lord *** whom high birth adorns,
How pitiful he squints amidst his horns!
A very notable old town;
Yes, rams' horns laid the lovely city low:
Thus rams' horns also to the earth
Bring down the men of lofty birth,
And force them with humility to bow.
Look at Lord *** whom high birth adorns,
How pitiful he squints amidst his horns!
Auckland, whose wife is charming and well bred,
Auckland, ah! rather in the vale of years,
Thinks gentlemen should have the proper fears,
And try to ward the antlers from the head.
Auckland, ah! rather in the vale of years,
Thinks gentlemen should have the proper fears,
And try to ward the antlers from the head.
Rare caution! how unlike some folk,
Of present and past times the joke;
Who, till the steed was stol'n, forbore
What fools! to shut the stable door!
Of present and past times the joke;
Who, till the steed was stol'n, forbore
What fools! to shut the stable door!
Yes, Auckland has his wife and daughters too;
And as our sex will never cease to woo,
Their charms may fire some tinder-hearted man!
A sigh, a tear, a gentle squeeze,
A bed, a grot, a clump of trees,
Have favour'd many a lover's artful plan.
What though Lucretias? In a fatal hour,
The fam'd Lucretia fell by Tarquin's pow'r.
And as our sex will never cease to woo,
Their charms may fire some tinder-hearted man!
411
A bed, a grot, a clump of trees,
Have favour'd many a lover's artful plan.
What though Lucretias? In a fatal hour,
The fam'd Lucretia fell by Tarquin's pow'r.
Auckland will give a deathful blow
To some sad purlieus of Soho:
No longer there shall lofty beds of down
Expect the muffled married dame,
And blushless youth of lawless flame,
Secure from husbands and the prying town.
To some sad purlieus of Soho:
No longer there shall lofty beds of down
Expect the muffled married dame,
And blushless youth of lawless flame,
Secure from husbands and the prying town.
There are, for wedded prey, who prowl,
And joy to hear the tempest howl;
O'er Matrimony's smile to cast a cloud,
And put the modest lady in her shroud!
Such shall the muse to infamy consign,
And crush with all the thunders of her line.
And joy to hear the tempest howl;
O'er Matrimony's smile to cast a cloud,
And put the modest lady in her shroud!
Such shall the muse to infamy consign,
And crush with all the thunders of her line.
Blushing, I own, I've been in love with Pleasure,
Look'd on the nymph's acquaintance as a treasure;
Never pursued her once with scoff and hisses;
But caught the little hussey in my arms;
Ran o'er the pretty garden of her charms,
And pluck'd the cherries of her lips—call'd kisses.
Look'd on the nymph's acquaintance as a treasure;
Never pursued her once with scoff and hisses;
But caught the little hussey in my arms;
Ran o'er the pretty garden of her charms,
And pluck'd the cherries of her lips—call'd kisses.
I never cast off Pleasure from me—no;
But hugg'd her, when I met with her—and so:
For lo! a piece of velvet was my soul!
Black velvet, mind! which when the god of day
Doth visit with his all-enlivening ray,
Enjoys the radiance, and devours the whole.
But hugg'd her, when I met with her—and so:
For lo! a piece of velvet was my soul!
Black velvet, mind! which when the god of day
Doth visit with his all-enlivening ray,
Enjoys the radiance, and devours the whole.
Velvet, unlike the marble rock, indeed,
Devoid of gratitude and grace;
Who, when the sun would warm and gild his head,
Flings back the blessing in his face.
Devoid of gratitude and grace;
Who, when the sun would warm and gild his head,
Flings back the blessing in his face.
Yes! I was once a sinner, I confess,
But now my morals wear a sober dress.
Sorry am I for our good princes
(Indeed my tender conscience winces),
To think they try to save Crim. Con. the jade!
The bishops in a goodly row,
All wish to give a fatal blow:
Such good examples somewhat might have sway'd!
But now my morals wear a sober dress.
412
(Indeed my tender conscience winces),
To think they try to save Crim. Con. the jade!
The bishops in a goodly row,
All wish to give a fatal blow:
Such good examples somewhat might have sway'd!
Rare oracles! so just, so sweet, so wise,
So deep in all the secrets of the skies;
So prone to teach, assist, inspire, and bless one,
From which Humility might take a lesson!
So deep in all the secrets of the skies;
So prone to teach, assist, inspire, and bless one,
From which Humility might take a lesson!
Sons of those holy men of yore—
As pious but not quite so poor;
Since Fortune, to the world's surprise,
On Merit learns to ope her eyes.
Now, when a bishop for a favour sues,
Not, not in vain the plaintive turtle coos.
As pious but not quite so poor;
Since Fortune, to the world's surprise,
On Merit learns to ope her eyes.
Now, when a bishop for a favour sues,
Not, not in vain the plaintive turtle coos.
Ye Gods! how wicked are the times!
Ev'n I cry, ‘Shame,’ the man of rhimes!
And poets are not overstock'd with blushes.—
See! lovely Modesty is gone
From Britain, where she fix'd her throne,
And Impudence to fill her station rushes!
Ev'n I cry, ‘Shame,’ the man of rhimes!
And poets are not overstock'd with blushes.—
See! lovely Modesty is gone
From Britain, where she fix'd her throne,
And Impudence to fill her station rushes!
How loose our ladies in attire,
To set our peeping youth on fire;
A hundred instances I soon could pick ye!
Without a cap we view the fair,
The bosom heaving, heaving bare;
The hips asham'd, forsooth to wear a dicky :
To set our peeping youth on fire;
413
Without a cap we view the fair,
The bosom heaving, heaving bare;
The hips asham'd, forsooth to wear a dicky :
Quite antique statues—such the dress,
It nothing leaves for Fancy's guess!
It nothing leaves for Fancy's guess!
Look at our grannums, good old souls,
With caps and pinners, well mob'd polls;
With warming dickies, high stiff stays,
To guard the neck from grasp and gaze,
How diff'rent from our modern fair,
Whose ev'ry beauty takes the air!
With caps and pinners, well mob'd polls;
With warming dickies, high stiff stays,
To guard the neck from grasp and gaze,
How diff'rent from our modern fair,
Whose ev'ry beauty takes the air!
Alas! they heed no frost or snow,
Nor winds around that chilling blow:
And swing their muslin gossamer about;
Showing what Modesty should veil;
Things very proper to conceal,
For legs and knees, and so, should ne'er peep out.
Nor winds around that chilling blow:
And swing their muslin gossamer about;
Showing what Modesty should veil;
Things very proper to conceal,
For legs and knees, and so, should ne'er peep out.
Kind David set a very bad example—
King Harry, too, a very shocking sample
Of wedlock's constant, chaste, and lovely state:
And many other kings besides, indeed,
Too prone on wild variety to feed,
Have broken Matrimony's tender pate:
King Harry, too, a very shocking sample
Of wedlock's constant, chaste, and lovely state:
And many other kings besides, indeed,
Too prone on wild variety to feed,
Have broken Matrimony's tender pate:
Nay, many princes ev'ry day
Do something in this wicked way,
But not so did a King of France,
Whose story seemeth quite romance.
Do something in this wicked way,
But not so did a King of France,
Whose story seemeth quite romance.
The present Bishop of London (Dr. Porteus) I must, indeed, adduce as an exception. Wishing to turn his back on his r*y*l patroness, on a vacancy in the see of Durham, he strained every nerve to obtain the precious prize, worth nearly twenty thousand pounds a-year; the bishopric of London, worth only poor four thousands per annum, scarcely sufficient to supply the extensive circle of his charities! Good man! he was disappointed; not only disappointed too; his prayer was considered as a piece of meanness and ingratitude.—If this be not a fact, I beg his lordship's pardon.
| The Works of Peter Pindar [i.e. John Wolcot] | |