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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| II. | ODE II. |
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 | The Works of Peter Pindar [i.e. John Wolcot] |  |
415
ODE II.
Now hear a son of Satan; how he sings!
‘Chloe, thou art the sweetest of sweet things:
I hate dull constancy—'tis such a bore:
It ruins Love—'tis such a piece of lumber,
Kind Venus, let it not my back encumber,
Come, Chloe, come—thy beauties I adore:
‘Chloe, thou art the sweetest of sweet things:
I hate dull constancy—'tis such a bore:
It ruins Love—'tis such a piece of lumber,
Kind Venus, let it not my back encumber,
Come, Chloe, come—thy beauties I adore:
‘Come to the fields—thy husband's gone to town—
O come, and let me give thee a green gown.
O come, and let me give thee a green gown.
‘Love is a butterfly that skims about,
From hill to vale, and stops at every flow'r;
Sucks all the honey with its little snout,
So pleas'd the rich ambrosia to devour;
Then on wild wing, away it flies again,
The sultan of the variegated plain.
From hill to vale, and stops at every flow'r;
Sucks all the honey with its little snout,
So pleas'd the rich ambrosia to devour;
Then on wild wing, away it flies again,
The sultan of the variegated plain.
‘Chloe, we'll imitate the ways of France;
For Constancy's a very dull romance—
Fit only for a poor old grunting dame;
And blind old Darby, full of ail and groan,
Forc'd to be led about by limping Joan,
Of girls the titter, and of boys the game.
For Constancy's a very dull romance—
Fit only for a poor old grunting dame;
And blind old Darby, full of ail and groan,
Forc'd to be led about by limping Joan,
Of girls the titter, and of boys the game.
‘But Love, my dear, is neither lame nor blind;
All energy—his life, eternal spring;
Roams the wide world as wanton as the wind,
And scorns the fetters that would bind his wing;
Then, Chloe, learn to prize the varied kiss,
And prove of sweet inconstancy the bliss.’
All energy—his life, eternal spring;
Roams the wide world as wanton as the wind,
And scorns the fetters that would bind his wing;
Then, Chloe, learn to prize the varied kiss,
And prove of sweet inconstancy the bliss.’
416
Such was the song of thousands—such the song
Of one King Louis—of his lady tir'd;
Who dragg'd with pain the marriage clog along,
And lo, a lady of his court desir'd.
Of one King Louis—of his lady tir'd;
Who dragg'd with pain the marriage clog along,
And lo, a lady of his court desir'd.
Yes, yes, his majesty, much, much too blame,
Had a colt's tooth, and lov'd another dame.
Had a colt's tooth, and lov'd another dame.
His minister (a bishop, I presume)
Inform'd him of the danger of his soul,
And pointed strongly to the day of doom,
And heav'n-ward his two eyes began to roll—
Much as to say, ‘O king if this way given,
Your majesty will never get to heav'n.’
Inform'd him of the danger of his soul,
And pointed strongly to the day of doom,
And heav'n-ward his two eyes began to roll—
Much as to say, ‘O king if this way given,
Your majesty will never get to heav'n.’
‘Stick to your virtuous queen,’ the bishop sigh'd;
‘Go to the Devil,’ the king in secret cry'd.
‘Go to the Devil,’ the king in secret cry'd.
The king, not relishing the priest's instructions,
His heaps of quoted Scripture—sage deductions,
Order'd him partridge constantly for dinner:
No dish beside—'twas partridge ev'ry day,
From this at length the bishop turn'd away,
Grew sick, and groan'd like a repentant sinner.
His heaps of quoted Scripture—sage deductions,
Order'd him partridge constantly for dinner:
No dish beside—'twas partridge ev'ry day,
From this at length the bishop turn'd away,
Grew sick, and groan'd like a repentant sinner.
Many wry mouths he made—‘Toujours perdrix!’
Partridge and priest in short could not agree:
He now felt constancy a mawkish thing.
A proselyte with long long face he came,
Desir'd to know the pretty lady's name,
Turn'd pimp himself, and brought her to the king.
Partridge and priest in short could not agree:
He now felt constancy a mawkish thing.
A proselyte with long long face he came,
Desir'd to know the pretty lady's name,
Turn'd pimp himself, and brought her to the king.
Die but Crim. Con.—the region smiles,
And glory crowns the Queen of Isles!
And glory crowns the Queen of Isles!
Old-age shall soon be hobbling seen
With blooming virgins of eighteen,
Panting, and coughing up an amorous sigh:
Yes, wheezing, wrinkled age shall woo,
And paw and drivel, kiss and coo,
And shake his crutches, and in triumph cry:
‘Horns, I defy you—horns no more I dread;
Fearless I wake, and fearless go to bed.
With blooming virgins of eighteen,
Panting, and coughing up an amorous sigh:
Yes, wheezing, wrinkled age shall woo,
And paw and drivel, kiss and coo,
And shake his crutches, and in triumph cry:
417
Fearless I wake, and fearless go to bed.
‘In wedlock's cage my nightingale shall sing
And lull my senses with a charming note:
I dare that damned rakehell a red coat
To pull a single feather from its wing.’
And lull my senses with a charming note:
I dare that damned rakehell a red coat
To pull a single feather from its wing.’
But then the batter'd rake will boast—
‘Though past my prime, my vigour lost,
And full of holes my aching bones;
Though gone my teeth, my cheeks all pale,
And foul my breath that taints the gale,
And night a witness of my groans;
‘Though past my prime, my vigour lost,
And full of holes my aching bones;
Though gone my teeth, my cheeks all pale,
And foul my breath that taints the gale,
And night a witness of my groans;
‘A virgin of a thousand charms
Shall bring her beauty to my arms;
While happy (from dishonour safe)
My head at rams and bulls shall laugh.’
Shall bring her beauty to my arms;
While happy (from dishonour safe)
My head at rams and bulls shall laugh.’
What modesty the man inspires!
How sweet the scheme the knave proposes!
What justice too in his desires!
A carrion on a bed of roses!
How sweet the scheme the knave proposes!
What justice too in his desires!
A carrion on a bed of roses!
‘I will ascend,’ exclaims another rake,
‘Yes, I will mount the highest places;
The beds of virgin innocence shall shake;
I'll kiss the daughters of the Graces.
‘Yes, I will mount the highest places;
The beds of virgin innocence shall shake;
I'll kiss the daughters of the Graces.
‘Thus will I spread (a king of blisses)
Mine empire o'er the world of kisses.
Mine empire o'er the world of kisses.
‘Wild as the roe my feet shall bound:
I'll graze in ev'ry neighbour's ground;
In vain my injur'd spouse shall wake and weep:
Well hamper'd by Lord Auckland's chain,
She dares not of her wrongs complain;
Her sighs must whisper, and her anger sleep.’
I'll graze in ev'ry neighbour's ground;
In vain my injur'd spouse shall wake and weep:
Well hamper'd by Lord Auckland's chain,
She dares not of her wrongs complain;
Her sighs must whisper, and her anger sleep.’
How manners change! the times of old,
When wives were lent, and bought and sold,
Must make a modern husband smile!
Cato was often known to send
To this, and that, and t'other friend,
To lend his wife a little while.
When wives were lent, and bought and sold,
418
Cato was often known to send
To this, and that, and t'other friend,
To lend his wife a little while.
If gone from Rome for air or water,
What then? why lend a pretty daughter.
What then? why lend a pretty daughter.
What happen'd?—One of them was sent to Cato,
With as much cordiality and ease,
As though the sage had begg'd for a potatoe,
A pot of mustard, or a slice of cheese!
With as much cordiality and ease,
As though the sage had begg'd for a potatoe,
A pot of mustard, or a slice of cheese!
The Grecian sages also (monstrous strange!)
All gentlemen of moral lives,
Met just like horse-dealers, or Jews on 'Change,
To buy, and swop, and borrow wives.
Now from digression to return,—
Crim. Con. must die, and thousands mourn.
All gentlemen of moral lives,
Met just like horse-dealers, or Jews on 'Change,
To buy, and swop, and borrow wives.
Now from digression to return,—
Crim. Con. must die, and thousands mourn.
No more shall wanton princes now
Attempt to milk a subject's cow:
No more John T---ds shall attack a duchess;
Who, chaste as Dian, scream'd for help,
And, struggling with the wicked whelp,
Escap'd all spotless from his savage clutches.
Attempt to milk a subject's cow:
No more John T---ds shall attack a duchess;
Who, chaste as Dian, scream'd for help,
And, struggling with the wicked whelp,
Escap'd all spotless from his savage clutches.
No charming Mistress Hodges shall appear,
Nor Mister Hodges aid his tender dear,
To plant the horn upon his willing skull:
Lady Cadogans, with inviting charms,
Lure no more pamper'd parsons to her arms,
Help'd by that pretty pimp, Miss Farley Bull.
Nor Mister Hodges aid his tender dear,
To plant the horn upon his willing skull:
Lady Cadogans, with inviting charms,
Lure no more pamper'd parsons to her arms,
Help'd by that pretty pimp, Miss Farley Bull.
Lady Westmeaths no more shall rise,
Victims of fascinating eyes,
To fill the trump of scandal, and inspire
Old prudish maids with jealous fits,
Drive virtuous wives out of their wits,
And set our envying, envying youth on fire.
Victims of fascinating eyes,
419
Old prudish maids with jealous fits,
Drive virtuous wives out of their wits,
And set our envying, envying youth on fire.
No Betty Leekes, to talk of a loose dress,
When Bradshaw came to woo the noble dame;
No powder'd, towzled couch their hours to bless,
No coachman to proclaim their acts of shame:
And last of all, no catering Mister Hogg ,
To suit salacious tastes with prurient prog.
When Bradshaw came to woo the noble dame;
No powder'd, towzled couch their hours to bless,
No coachman to proclaim their acts of shame:
And last of all, no catering Mister Hogg ,
To suit salacious tastes with prurient prog.
No more shall hawkers gallop on,
Roaring away, ‘Crim. Con. Crim. Con.!’
While Abigails from houses, with a caper,
Rush, giggling, forth, to buy the paper:
To show their ladies, happy, none will doubt it,
To wink and sneer, and prattle all about it.
Roaring away, ‘Crim. Con. Crim. Con.!’
While Abigails from houses, with a caper,
Rush, giggling, forth, to buy the paper:
To show their ladies, happy, none will doubt it,
To wink and sneer, and prattle all about it.
No more a counsel's blush shall spring,
Nor loftier B---r with sweet grace,
Hide in his handkerchief his face,
When evidence has been too near the thing
Nor loftier B---r with sweet grace,
Hide in his handkerchief his face,
When evidence has been too near the thing
Counsel will not be forc'd to say,
When did they kiss?—in garish day,
Or by the candle's conscious trembling light?
Were they in bed beneath the sheet,
Snug in embrace—both tête-à-tête?
And what were things that might appear in sight?
Such shall no more be heard in court,
Making for idle ears a sport.
When did they kiss?—in garish day,
Or by the candle's conscious trembling light?
Were they in bed beneath the sheet,
Snug in embrace—both tête-à-tête?
And what were things that might appear in sight?
Such shall no more be heard in court,
Making for idle ears a sport.
Too often wives who lose at play,
With honour debts of honour pay;
And slily to some Cyprian fane repair—
Invoke of Love the saucy pow'r,
To Cupid sacrifice an hour,
And lo! return with so much ease and air,
As though it were a millinery trip!
So out of breath in quest of Mistress Snip!
With honour debts of honour pay;
And slily to some Cyprian fane repair—
Invoke of Love the saucy pow'r,
To Cupid sacrifice an hour,
And lo! return with so much ease and air,
420
So out of breath in quest of Mistress Snip!
All in the house of Wedlock shall be quiet;
No sighs to soften, and no pulse to riot;
And Chastity, in danger now no more,
Shall sleep without a lock upon her door.
No sighs to soften, and no pulse to riot;
And Chastity, in danger now no more,
Shall sleep without a lock upon her door.
‘'Tis a bad wind that blows no good,’
A proverb older than the flood.
Cries pert Miss Fornication, with a wink;
‘Aye, kill my sister—do—and soon
I'll play young ladies such a tune,
Aye, spinster reputation soon shall sink:
A proverb older than the flood.
Cries pert Miss Fornication, with a wink;
‘Aye, kill my sister—do—and soon
I'll play young ladies such a tune,
Aye, spinster reputation soon shall sink:
I'll deal in billets-doux and sighs;
I'll open necks and sharpen eyes;
I'll make their gowns and petticoats of gauze;
I'll do the business of the maids!
I'll make more routes and masquerades;
I'll sharpen Mister Satan's claws.
I'll open necks and sharpen eyes;
I'll make their gowns and petticoats of gauze;
I'll do the business of the maids!
I'll make more routes and masquerades;
I'll sharpen Mister Satan's claws.
‘I'll order it with nymph and swain,
That cheeks shall never blush again.
That cheeks shall never blush again.
‘I'll build to Methodism more chapels,
Where lad with lass so sweetly grapples
Soon as the tell-tale candles are put out:
Yes, yes, the love-feasts shall increase,
And Modesty, that mincing piece,
Shall say, “Good bye t'ye,” to the groaning rout.
Where lad with lass so sweetly grapples
Soon as the tell-tale candles are put out:
Yes, yes, the love-feasts shall increase,
And Modesty, that mincing piece,
Shall say, “Good bye t'ye,” to the groaning rout.
‘I'll aid Hypocrisy's dark cause,
And for a parson choose a H---s ;
I'll ope new turnpikes to salvation,
Or I'm not christen'd Fornication.’
And for a parson choose a H---s ;
I'll ope new turnpikes to salvation,
Or I'm not christen'd Fornication.’
Thus wildly she exclaims! and, by the Lord,
I think the hussey means to keep her word;
Thus have I pour'd a pair of odes,
Which some may deem the songs of gods;
But hark! a second solemn voice I hear—
A second awful voice that cries,
‘Bard, bard, thine oracles are lies;
Crim. Con. has nought from Auckland's rage to fear,
That lord from morn to night, and night to morn,
Shall trembling view the visionary horn.’
I think the hussey means to keep her word;
421
Which some may deem the songs of gods;
But hark! a second solemn voice I hear—
A second awful voice that cries,
‘Bard, bard, thine oracles are lies;
Crim. Con. has nought from Auckland's rage to fear,
That lord from morn to night, and night to morn,
Shall trembling view the visionary horn.’
| The Works of Peter Pindar [i.e. John Wolcot] | |