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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| ODES TO INS AND OUTS. |
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| II. |
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| X. |
| IV. |
 | The Works of Peter Pindar [i.e. John Wolcot] |  |
475
ODES TO INS AND OUTS.
------ exulet aula
Qui volet esse pius: Virtus et summa Potestas
Non coëunt.
LUCAN.
Qui volet esse pius: Virtus et summa Potestas
Non coëunt.
LUCAN.
He who would gain Fame's good report,
Must have no dealings with a court.
Virtue and Power—fair and foul weather,
Were never known to pig together.
Must have no dealings with a court.
Virtue and Power—fair and foul weather,
Were never known to pig together.
477
[Ode I.] PROLOGUE.
I hate most courtiers, from my soul!
Upon each other how they scowl!
Yet all politeness—wonderful good-nature—
Each tries to get the first employ,
By ev'ry engine to destroy,
Yet bows, and smiles, and still persists to flatter;
And when his rival he has sent to hell,
Kind whispers—‘Sir, I hope I see you well.’
Upon each other how they scowl!
Yet all politeness—wonderful good-nature—
Each tries to get the first employ,
By ev'ry engine to destroy,
Yet bows, and smiles, and still persists to flatter;
And when his rival he has sent to hell,
Kind whispers—‘Sir, I hope I see you well.’
How like old Ocean, the old knave!
This moment placid, smooth, a bright expanse—
The next he thunders, raises every wave,
Roars, riots, tumbles, kicks up such a dance,
Booms o'er the ship with such a shock,
And heaves her on the fatal rock!
This moment placid, smooth, a bright expanse—
The next he thunders, raises every wave,
Roars, riots, tumbles, kicks up such a dance,
Booms o'er the ship with such a shock,
And heaves her on the fatal rock!
Within a little hour, one little hour,
No more his foamy billows tow'r,
But all so crouching, humble, gentle, rot 'em!
With timid motion they advance,
Seem sorry for the sad mischance,
And, winding round the wreck, they kiss its bottom.
No more his foamy billows tow'r,
But all so crouching, humble, gentle, rot 'em!
With timid motion they advance,
Seem sorry for the sad mischance,
And, winding round the wreck, they kiss its bottom.
478
Reader, didst ever scald thy mouth with custard?
Then thou hast curs'd it twenty times, or more,
Or didst thou ever to a cat give mustard?
If so, grimalkin scratch'd, and spit, and swore.
Then thou hast curs'd it twenty times, or more,
Or didst thou ever to a cat give mustard?
If so, grimalkin scratch'd, and spit, and swore.
Thus at my rhimes our courtiers swear and spit,
Ready to slay me—tear me bit by bit.—
Ready to slay me—tear me bit by bit.—
I dearly love to hitch the rogues in rhime,
And tell the world each various crime;
And folly too, ah, often felt and seen!
Indeed the act of many a court
Would yield the nation charming sport,
And chase the gloomy cloud of spleen;
But that this folly mingles with much harm—
Aye, there's the rub!—the rub, too, to alarm.
And tell the world each various crime;
And folly too, ah, often felt and seen!
Indeed the act of many a court
Would yield the nation charming sport,
And chase the gloomy cloud of spleen;
But that this folly mingles with much harm—
Aye, there's the rub!—the rub, too, to alarm.
But, sirs, I'll have my thoughts, and speak them too,
In spite of ministerial chains:
If a court scoundrel meet my view,
I'll laugh at penalties and pains;
Smile at the ribbands that their shoulders deck,
And wish them good tight ropes about the neck.
In spite of ministerial chains:
If a court scoundrel meet my view,
I'll laugh at penalties and pains;
Smile at the ribbands that their shoulders deck,
And wish them good tight ropes about the neck.
I'll have my thoughts, and print them too,
Ev'n should there be an imprimatur;
Sing what is what, and who is who,
And, independent, scorn to flatter.
Ev'n should there be an imprimatur;
Sing what is what, and who is who,
And, independent, scorn to flatter.
There may be ministerial chains,
Not only for the tongue, but brains:
The time may come when ministerial sway
Makes despotism the order of the day—
Still will I talk and write as I think fit,
Whether man John be Addington or Pitt.
Not only for the tongue, but brains:
The time may come when ministerial sway
Makes despotism the order of the day—
Still will I talk and write as I think fit,
Whether man John be Addington or Pitt.
479
ODE II. TO THE K---.
Written immediately on Mr. Pitt's Retreat from Administration.
An't please your m---y, I'm very glad,
And so are all of us (of late so sad)
That you have thrown the Jonas overboard,
See! see the drowning cat! he spreads his claws!
Quickly, for God's sake, sir, chop off his paws!—
He dies, by not a single sigh deplor'd.
To Davy Jones's locker let him go,
And with old Neptune booze below—
Bad stuff though, Neptune's mawkish brine!
He'd rather touch Dundas's wine.
And so are all of us (of late so sad)
That you have thrown the Jonas overboard,
See! see the drowning cat! he spreads his claws!
Quickly, for God's sake, sir, chop off his paws!—
He dies, by not a single sigh deplor'd.
To Davy Jones's locker let him go,
And with old Neptune booze below—
Bad stuff though, Neptune's mawkish brine!
He'd rather touch Dundas's wine.
Pitt, sir, has been a shocking steward,
And made us all, poor creatures, chew hard:
We scarce can put a mouse into the pot;
And yet he leaves behind, I fear,
Something that will not touching bear,
Like powder of a post that has the rot.
And Fame each day sings louder, sir, and louder,
‘State-pillars will be made of this same powder.’
Now rotten wood, according to my nouse,
Is bad material to support a house.
And made us all, poor creatures, chew hard:
We scarce can put a mouse into the pot;
And yet he leaves behind, I fear,
Something that will not touching bear,
Like powder of a post that has the rot.
And Fame each day sings louder, sir, and louder,
‘State-pillars will be made of this same powder.’
Now rotten wood, according to my nouse,
Is bad material to support a house.
Pitt deem'd himself an eagle—what a flat!
What was he?—a poor wheeling, fluttering bat—
An imp of darkness—busy catching flies!
Here, there, up, down, off, on—shriek, shriek—snap, snap—
His gaping mouth a very lucky trap,
Quick seizing for his hungry maw—supplies.
What was he?—a poor wheeling, fluttering bat—
An imp of darkness—busy catching flies!
480
His gaping mouth a very lucky trap,
Quick seizing for his hungry maw—supplies.
Pitt makes, 'tis true, a monstrous noise—
He who's seduc'd must be besotted.
The sound may fright the ears of boys—
A cannon's thunder, but not shotted.
He who's seduc'd must be besotted.
The sound may fright the ears of boys—
A cannon's thunder, but not shotted.
No farmer with more true delight
E'er saw a saucy, soaring kite
Fetch'd by a leaden messenger to ground,
Than we, when majesty thought fit,
And wisely too, to humble Pitt,
Headlong into the gulf profound,
Sunk him to hell—at least his lowest hell,
Where pride's prick'd bladder could no longer swell.
E'er saw a saucy, soaring kite
Fetch'd by a leaden messenger to ground,
Than we, when majesty thought fit,
And wisely too, to humble Pitt,
Headlong into the gulf profound,
Sunk him to hell—at least his lowest hell,
Where pride's prick'd bladder could no longer swell.
No farmer with a greater glee
Beholds a dying fox than we
Mark'd the last struggles of poor Billy Pitt.
On every visage see a smile!
Joy triumphs through the echoing isle!
Upon his name Posterity shall spit.
Beholds a dying fox than we
Mark'd the last struggles of poor Billy Pitt.
On every visage see a smile!
Joy triumphs through the echoing isle!
Upon his name Posterity shall spit.
Poor banish'd Liberty again
To Britain's fair and wide domain,
Shall bring her throne, her sacred throne:
The voice that long has learnt to mourn,
Shall hail with rapture her return,
And change for sounds of joy the hopeless groan.
To Britain's fair and wide domain,
Shall bring her throne, her sacred throne:
The voice that long has learnt to mourn,
Shall hail with rapture her return,
And change for sounds of joy the hopeless groan.
Well, sire, whatever be th' event,
You do things with the best intent;
Distress'd when Fortune mars a patriot plan:
And know, each true-born Briton sings,
‘Health and long life to virtuous kings!
We love the master, but detest the man.’
You do things with the best intent;
Distress'd when Fortune mars a patriot plan:
And know, each true-born Briton sings,
‘Health and long life to virtuous kings!
We love the master, but detest the man.’
481
POSTSCRIPT.
Sire! if your majesty so please,
And, sire, it may be done with ease,
I'll make a bargain.—Keep out Pitt for ever,
My song shall be the song of praise;
To kings an altar will I raise,
And never tear it down—no, never, never.
And, should it please th' Almighty to take Pye,
Sire, I'm your bard—your laureat—I—yes, I!
And, sire, it may be done with ease,
I'll make a bargain.—Keep out Pitt for ever,
My song shall be the song of praise;
To kings an altar will I raise,
And never tear it down—no, never, never.
And, should it please th' Almighty to take Pye,
Sire, I'm your bard—your laureat—I—yes, I!
I think this must be some temptation,
Considering my vast reputation.
Considering my vast reputation.
ODE III. TO LORD H---Y.
Sweet is the Muse's voice to me!
Nothing so clever, nought more mighty,
For taking from the heart ennui,
The spleen, blue devils, tædium vitæ.
Sweet also is the sweet Cremona's tongue,
Making the hours dance merrily along.
Nothing so clever, nought more mighty,
For taking from the heart ennui,
The spleen, blue devils, tædium vitæ.
Sweet also is the sweet Cremona's tongue,
Making the hours dance merrily along.
But, ah! not sweet, indeed, to me,
Are sounds in Parliament from thee:
Through my whole frame such torpors creep—
I stretch, gape, yawn, and fall asleep.
Are sounds in Parliament from thee:
Through my whole frame such torpors creep—
I stretch, gape, yawn, and fall asleep.
Surely our men of worship should be wise,
Think deeply, and with speech surprise:
But titles only the mad million hails!
Just like bird-fanciers, heedless of the song,
Who ask what feathers to the birds belong,
That, bashaw-like, gain glory by their tails.
Think deeply, and with speech surprise:
But titles only the mad million hails!
Just like bird-fanciers, heedless of the song,
Who ask what feathers to the birds belong,
That, bashaw-like, gain glory by their tails.
482
Thou deem'st thyself a first rate ship of war—
Inform one, H---k'sb---y, art thou mad?
What says each honest, grinning tar?
‘O, d---n my eyes! this is too bad!’
Then flings his quid away, and raves,
‘A goose-feather upon the waves!’
Inform one, H---k'sb---y, art thou mad?
What says each honest, grinning tar?
‘O, d---n my eyes! this is too bad!’
Then flings his quid away, and raves,
‘A goose-feather upon the waves!’
Now let me own, Jack's cat is much too smart:
'Mid the loud storm, and on the ocean's swell,
H---k'sb---y, I'll tell thee truly what thou art—
A simple cockle-shell!
Slipp'd from a stubborn rock into the sea.—
‘Ah!’ thou exclaimest, ‘who's that stubborn rock?
I wonder who that rock can be!’
Pitt! Pitt!—Lord, thou art stupid as a stock!
'Mid the loud storm, and on the ocean's swell,
H---k'sb---y, I'll tell thee truly what thou art—
A simple cockle-shell!
Slipp'd from a stubborn rock into the sea.—
‘Ah!’ thou exclaimest, ‘who's that stubborn rock?
I wonder who that rock can be!’
Pitt! Pitt!—Lord, thou art stupid as a stock!
H---k'sb---y, amid this boisterous gale,
Since thou art mounted upon high,
On pinion wild, with dauntless eye,
Let me instruct thee with a tale.
'Tis of an owl,
A solemn fowl,
And very much conceited—much like thee:
Excuse this quaker-proneness to be free.
Since thou art mounted upon high,
On pinion wild, with dauntless eye,
Let me instruct thee with a tale.
'Tis of an owl,
A solemn fowl,
And very much conceited—much like thee:
Excuse this quaker-proneness to be free.
AN Owl, a bachelor of no great soul,
Nor intellect, but very, very proud,
The tenant of a little dirty hole,
Wish'd from obscurity to clear the cloud:
Yes, owl must have his sails unfurl'd,
And mount majestic on the world.
Nor intellect, but very, very proud,
The tenant of a little dirty hole,
Wish'd from obscurity to clear the cloud:
Yes, owl must have his sails unfurl'd,
And mount majestic on the world.
Close to his ivy-house liv'd Crow,
Who on his errands us'd to go.
‘Crow,’ said the Owl, upon a day,
‘I'm sick of solitude and gloom:
A bird of my deep sense and plume
Should mount amid the blaze of day.
In short, dear crow, I wish to wed,
And, mind me, take unto my bed
Who on his errands us'd to go.
‘Crow,’ said the Owl, upon a day,
‘I'm sick of solitude and gloom:
A bird of my deep sense and plume
Should mount amid the blaze of day.
In short, dear crow, I wish to wed,
And, mind me, take unto my bed
483
A bird of birth, the Eagle's daughter,
Miss Eaglet!’—‘Ah!’ replied the Crow,
Ready to split his sides with laughter,
‘Indeed! and are things really so?
Right, sir, to alter your condition—
O Lord! there's nothing like ambition!’
Miss Eaglet!’—‘Ah!’ replied the Crow,
Ready to split his sides with laughter,
‘Indeed! and are things really so?
Right, sir, to alter your condition—
O Lord! there's nothing like ambition!’
‘Well, Crow, you'll quickly seek the realms above,
With my proposals to the bird of Jove.’
With my proposals to the bird of Jove.’
Crow takes his leave, ascends the skies,
And to the Eagle's palace flies
The black ambassador from Owl;
Delivers his credentials to his grace,
With Auckland's diplomatic face,
Conceiving, like a penetrating fowl,
How politics would go above;
What answer leave the bird of Jove.
And to the Eagle's palace flies
The black ambassador from Owl;
Delivers his credentials to his grace,
With Auckland's diplomatic face,
Conceiving, like a penetrating fowl,
How politics would go above;
What answer leave the bird of Jove.
Thus spake the royal bird:—‘Sir Crow,
To my Lord Owl be pleas'd to go,
And tell him that I like the match:
I'm much oblig'd to him, indeed,
For honouring the Eagle breed:
I've been a good while on the watch
To throw a little lustre round my house:
Commend me to the thunderbolt of mouse.
To my Lord Owl be pleas'd to go,
And tell him that I like the match:
I'm much oblig'd to him, indeed,
For honouring the Eagle breed:
I've been a good while on the watch
To throw a little lustre round my house:
Commend me to the thunderbolt of mouse.
‘Miss Eaglet is at his command—
Shall join his lordship in the straw;
Who such alliance cannot well withstand;
Happy to take him by the claw.
Bid him ascend sans cérémonie—free,
And pick his mouse to-day with me.
Shall join his lordship in the straw;
Who such alliance cannot well withstand;
Happy to take him by the claw.
Bid him ascend sans cérémonie—free,
And pick his mouse to-day with me.
Off flew at once the sable fowl,
And quickly reach'd the house of Owl,
And told him all that he had seen and heard.
Owl instant comb'd, and wash'd his face,
Cut all his claws to such a grace,
Trimm'd all his feathers nicely—clipp'd his beard;
Bid to his humble hole good-night,
And rose amid the realms of light.
And quickly reach'd the house of Owl,
And told him all that he had seen and heard.
Owl instant comb'd, and wash'd his face,
Cut all his claws to such a grace,
Trimm'd all his feathers nicely—clipp'd his beard;
484
And rose amid the realms of light.
Mounted a mile or two, behold,
The sun's bright blaze of burnish'd gold
Flash'd on the owl's poor weak and watering eyes;
Just like a paper-kite, whose string
Deserting, leaves him on the wing,
To totter, dip, mount, fall again, and rise;
So shuffled Owl, lost, reeling, blind,
The sport of every gust of wind,
Till down he fell with phiz of woe,
The jest of ev'ry bird below.
The sun's bright blaze of burnish'd gold
Flash'd on the owl's poor weak and watering eyes;
Just like a paper-kite, whose string
Deserting, leaves him on the wing,
To totter, dip, mount, fall again, and rise;
So shuffled Owl, lost, reeling, blind,
The sport of every gust of wind,
Till down he fell with phiz of woe,
The jest of ev'ry bird below.
Now, H---k'sb---y, tell the man of rhime,
How feelest thou thy flight sublime?
Thy weak eyes seem already winking.
Poor bird! I fear 'tis quickly over!
Yes, yes, already I discover
Symptoms of sinking.
How feelest thou thy flight sublime?
Thy weak eyes seem already winking.
Poor bird! I fear 'tis quickly over!
Yes, yes, already I discover
Symptoms of sinking.
Pitt's mouth may make a little blast—
The paper-kite comes down at last,
And sharply watching are we all;
And when laid flat upon the ground,
Thy paper stuff we shall surround,
And make us merry at thy fall!
The paper-kite comes down at last,
And sharply watching are we all;
And when laid flat upon the ground,
Thy paper stuff we shall surround,
And make us merry at thy fall!
Remember Icarus's height—
Perhaps the observation stings;
Thou shouldst have ask'd, before thy flight,
Dame Wisdom for a pair of wings.
Perhaps the observation stings;
Thou shouldst have ask'd, before thy flight,
Dame Wisdom for a pair of wings.
485
ODE IV. TO THE CHANCELLOR OF THE EXCHEQUER.
Pray, Mister Addington, go out—
Your change on madness seems to border.
You're a good school-mistress, no doubt,
To keep the noisy brats in order.
But to be minister!—God bless ye!
Why, what the devil could possess ye?
Your change on madness seems to border.
You're a good school-mistress, no doubt,
To keep the noisy brats in order.
But to be minister!—God bless ye!
Why, what the devil could possess ye?
Pray, Mister Addington, go out,
And let some abler man come in—
Such child's play!—What are ye about?
The nation's really in a grin!
And yet it ought to cry, Heav'n knows!
So nearly going to the crows!
And let some abler man come in—
Such child's play!—What are ye about?
The nation's really in a grin!
And yet it ought to cry, Heav'n knows!
So nearly going to the crows!
Good Mister Addington, go out—
Go calmly out, nor make a pudder;
And don't, like Grenville, push your snout
Beneath the good old state-cow's udder.
Poor beast! she can't thy thirst supply!
Pitt's famish'd calves have suck'd her dry.
Go calmly out, nor make a pudder;
And don't, like Grenville, push your snout
Beneath the good old state-cow's udder.
Poor beast! she can't thy thirst supply!
Pitt's famish'd calves have suck'd her dry.
And hear me, sir—learn some small wit—
Don't be the dirty tool of Pitt:
Think on a tale—the monkey and the cat.
Chesnuts were roasting in the fire:
Jack's jaws both water'd with desire;
He begs Miss Puss to lend her pretty pat;
Then handy, as the handiest stoker,
He makes her velvet paw a poker—
And stirs away at such a rate!
Don't be the dirty tool of Pitt:
Think on a tale—the monkey and the cat.
Chesnuts were roasting in the fire:
Jack's jaws both water'd with desire;
He begs Miss Puss to lend her pretty pat;
Then handy, as the handiest stoker,
He makes her velvet paw a poker—
And stirs away at such a rate!
486
Puss squalls—but what is that to Pug?
He holds poor Miss Grimalkin snug,
And gets the chesnuts from the grate:
Jack grins—indulges his rogue jaws—
Puss goes in mourning for her claws.
He holds poor Miss Grimalkin snug,
And gets the chesnuts from the grate:
Jack grins—indulges his rogue jaws—
Puss goes in mourning for her claws.
Now Mister Chancellor will say I squint;
That as to my surmise there's nothing in't:
Now, Mister Chancellor, I call no names;
But lo! the father of reform
Will take you by persuasion, or by storm,
And put your pretty fingers in the flames.
That as to my surmise there's nothing in't:
Now, Mister Chancellor, I call no names;
But lo! the father of reform
Will take you by persuasion, or by storm,
And put your pretty fingers in the flames.
He wants that organ in your mouth call'd tongue;
And, like an organ in the house of God,
With deep-ton'd energy, divinely strong,
That fills with holy awe the dread abode:
He wishes yours to stun Saint Stephen's sphere,
And get him some ten thousand pounds a year!
And, like an organ in the house of God,
With deep-ton'd energy, divinely strong,
That fills with holy awe the dread abode:
He wishes yours to stun Saint Stephen's sphere,
And get him some ten thousand pounds a year!
Yes, you must thunder for a pension!
For services of high pretension;
For him who, lab'ring with the happiest pains,
Sav'd England's life by dashing out her brains!
For services of high pretension;
For him who, lab'ring with the happiest pains,
Sav'd England's life by dashing out her brains!
ODE V. TO GEORGE ROSE, ESQ.
Forc'd from affairs of state, George Rose,
With pretty treasury pickings, goes;
In humble hut, on Scotia's plains,
To feast upon his honest gains.
With pretty treasury pickings, goes;
In humble hut, on Scotia's plains,
To feast upon his honest gains.
Thus with a dainty heap of apples,
With teeth and claws, a hedge-hog grapples,
The epicure, and eats his fill:
Yet on the heap behold him roll,
And loaded steal into his hole,
A golden pippin on each quill.—
Thus loaded, into Scotland goes
Ex-secrétaire George Hedge-hog Rose.
With teeth and claws, a hedge-hog grapples,
487
Yet on the heap behold him roll,
And loaded steal into his hole,
A golden pippin on each quill.—
Thus loaded, into Scotland goes
Ex-secrétaire George Hedge-hog Rose.
Fed like a horse in a king's stable,
George didst thou happy rise from table,
As Horace says, ‘Uti conviva satur?’
I really think 'twas no such matter.
George didst thou happy rise from table,
As Horace says, ‘Uti conviva satur?’
I really think 'twas no such matter.
Forc'd from the ven'son of the state;
Forc'd to desert a well-cramm'd plate;
Forc'd from the trifles, and the jelly;
Forc'd from the thousand sweet nick-nackeries,
Prettily made by state-cook quackeries,
To fill each crevice of thy bloated belly—
Looking a downright football by its tumour,
I think thou gottest up in a bad humour—
Yes, George, thy stomach it is such,
It thinks it cannot have too much.
Forc'd to desert a well-cramm'd plate;
Forc'd from the trifles, and the jelly;
Forc'd from the thousand sweet nick-nackeries,
Prettily made by state-cook quackeries,
To fill each crevice of thy bloated belly—
Looking a downright football by its tumour,
I think thou gottest up in a bad humour—
Yes, George, thy stomach it is such,
It thinks it cannot have too much.
Yet, why art thou not dubb'd a lord,
To rise with lustre from the board,
As title much the vulgar world bewitches?
Then mayst thou seek the barren heath,
Or dell, where first thou drewest breath,
And blaze the jack o'-lantern of the ditches!
To rise with lustre from the board,
As title much the vulgar world bewitches?
Then mayst thou seek the barren heath,
Or dell, where first thou drewest breath,
And blaze the jack o'-lantern of the ditches!
Joan Jenkinson, and Madge, and Bet,
And Peg, and Nan, a sav'ry set,
Have ris'n to ladyship in this kind reign:
They ride to court, obtain a smile,
Make dips and curtsies all in style,
And carry off kind nods from k--- and q---.
Now this was all old Jenky's doing,
By dint of labour and court-wooing.
And Peg, and Nan, a sav'ry set,
Have ris'n to ladyship in this kind reign:
They ride to court, obtain a smile,
Make dips and curtsies all in style,
And carry off kind nods from k--- and q---.
Now this was all old Jenky's doing,
By dint of labour and court-wooing.
Hast thou not too some poor relations
Wishing to change their ragged stations,
And on the bright court hemisphere be stars?
If favour will not gain it—buy,
And hoist thy cousin Joans on high,
Upon the virtuous plunder of our wars.
Wishing to change their ragged stations,
488
If favour will not gain it—buy,
And hoist thy cousin Joans on high,
Upon the virtuous plunder of our wars.
Sure, thou mayst do all this with ease,
As honours are as thick as fleas,
Pitching on this man's shoulder, now on that.
As Heraldry has wondrous charms,
Heard shall invent a coat of arms,
And to a tiger turn a mangy cat.
As honours are as thick as fleas,
Pitching on this man's shoulder, now on that.
As Heraldry has wondrous charms,
Heard shall invent a coat of arms,
And to a tiger turn a mangy cat.
ODE VI.
When Pitt was out of office push'd,
What horror smote the levee mob!
Mad into street of Downing rush'd
His minions, always ready for a job:
What horror smote the levee mob!
Mad into street of Downing rush'd
His minions, always ready for a job:
A most obsequious stud of hacks,
Who bore him on their humble backs
Through dirty lanes, through thick and thin;
No matter what the object, no;
When Pitt commands—it must be so;
Whether to clothe the naked realm, or skin
Who bore him on their humble backs
Through dirty lanes, through thick and thin;
No matter what the object, no;
When Pitt commands—it must be so;
Whether to clothe the naked realm, or skin
Muse, would it be too harsh to say,
The tumult on that kick-out day
Was mob-like at a house on fire;
Where friends, amid the conflagration,
With a kind thief-acceleration,
Whip off the goods they guarded by desire?
The tumult on that kick-out day
Was mob-like at a house on fire;
Where friends, amid the conflagration,
With a kind thief-acceleration,
Whip off the goods they guarded by desire?
Unfeeling as a stone, or harder,
In rush'd Lord G--- to the larder,
Caught up a goose for self and wife;
In ran Dundas with hungry paunch,
Snatch'd up a turbot and a haunch:
In bounc'd Charles Long, and, with his butcher's knife,
(For in the plunder he must also join),
And cut off slices from a fat sirloin.
In rush'd Lord G--- to the larder,
Caught up a goose for self and wife;
489
Snatch'd up a turbot and a haunch:
In bounc'd Charles Long, and, with his butcher's knife,
(For in the plunder he must also join),
And cut off slices from a fat sirloin.
In scamper'd Wyndham—‘Where's my share?
I must be partner in the spoils:’
Then up he caught an old jack hare,
A proper present for his toils:’
I must be partner in the spoils:’
Then up he caught an old jack hare,
A proper present for his toils:’
‘I must have something,’ Canning cries,
And fastens on some rich-mince pies,
As dext'rous as the rest to rifle:
Ecod! and he must something do
For mother and for sisters too,
So steals some syllabubs and trifle .
And fastens on some rich-mince pies,
As dext'rous as the rest to rifle:
Ecod! and he must something do
For mother and for sisters too,
So steals some syllabubs and trifle .
But where was Justice all the while,
That things were going off in style?
Poor gentlewoman! she was gagg'd and bound;
Her even scales, alas! abhorr'd,
In pieces broken with her sword;
Nor were the fasces to be found.
That things were going off in style?
Poor gentlewoman! she was gagg'd and bound;
Her even scales, alas! abhorr'd,
In pieces broken with her sword;
Nor were the fasces to be found.
490
Such were the guardians of the state,
Just like a shoal of sharks who swam in,
With maws as wide as the park gate,
To save (by eating us) from famine!
Just like a shoal of sharks who swam in,
With maws as wide as the park gate,
To save (by eating us) from famine!
With a ministerial fortune by matrimony; with sinecures, &c. to a large amount, squeez'd from the vitals of the nation; this modest and generous youth could not afford to yield his poor mother, Mistress Hunn, alias Mistress Reddish, alias Mistress Canning, a pittance.— No! the kingdom must be saddled with five hundred pounds a pear for her support. Such is the laudable distribution of public treasure! Such are the depositaries of the national confidence; and of such we are ordered not to complain, for fear of the impotation of jacobinism!!!
ODE VII.
Possess but faith, 'twill move a mountain;
Thus says the Bible, the great fountain,
The sacred fountain of immortal truth.
There are who say that Billy Pitt
In this dear war has shown his wit—
Lord! what a statesman!—what a clever youth!
Keen as the keenest eagle's view,
There's nothing that he cannot do.
Thus says the Bible, the great fountain,
The sacred fountain of immortal truth.
There are who say that Billy Pitt
In this dear war has shown his wit—
Lord! what a statesman!—what a clever youth!
Keen as the keenest eagle's view,
There's nothing that he cannot do.
Yes, have a portion of credulity,
And claw a pyramid, you'll pull it t'ye.
And claw a pyramid, you'll pull it t'ye.
Credulity's a pretty sand
To blind the people of the land:
O yes, it blinds weak women, and weak men,
Much like the sand that boys, in fun,
Fire from an engine called a gun,
To knock down a poor humming-bird, or wren.
To blind the people of the land:
O yes, it blinds weak women, and weak men,
Much like the sand that boys, in fun,
Fire from an engine called a gun,
To knock down a poor humming-bird, or wren.
THE DOCTORS;
A TALE.
A fellow troubled with the itch
(Like courtier-men) of getting rich,
And learning that a doctor (not a quack),
By means of a most potent pill,
Did verily and truly fill
Full many a time with gold his sack—
Resolv'd, by pill, to make a fortune too,
So set about it without more ado.
(Like courtier-men) of getting rich,
And learning that a doctor (not a quack),
By means of a most potent pill,
Did verily and truly fill
Full many a time with gold his sack—
491
So set about it without more ado.
Hoist but the standard, folks will come,
With heads as empty as the drum.
The quack puffs off his pill—none doubt him:
A bumpkin came among the rest,
And thus the man of pill addrest:
With heads as empty as the drum.
The quack puffs off his pill—none doubt him:
A bumpkin came among the rest,
And thus the man of pill addrest:
‘Zur, hearing what is come to pass,
That your fine pill hath cur'd the king,
And able to do every thing,
D'ye think, zur, that 'twill make me vind my ass?
I've lost my ass, zur, zo should like to try it:
If this be your opinion, sur, I'll buy it.’
That your fine pill hath cur'd the king,
And able to do every thing,
D'ye think, zur, that 'twill make me vind my ass?
I've lost my ass, zur, zo should like to try it:
If this be your opinion, sur, I'll buy it.’
‘Undoubtedly!’ the quack replied,
‘Yes, Master Hob, it should be tried:’
Then down Hob's gullet, cure or kill,
The grand impostor push'd the pill.
Hob paid his fee, and off he went;
And trav'lling on about an hour,
His bowels sore with pains were rent:
Such was the pill's surprising pow'r.
‘Yes, Master Hob, it should be tried:’
Then down Hob's gullet, cure or kill,
The grand impostor push'd the pill.
Hob paid his fee, and off he went;
And trav'lling on about an hour,
His bowels sore with pains were rent:
Such was the pill's surprising pow'r.
No longer able to contain,
Hob, in a hurry left the lane:
How decent!—what can decency surpass?
And sought the grove—where Hob's two eyes,
Wide staring, saw with huge surprise
His long-ear'd servant Jack, his ass!
Ye gods! how happy was the meeting!
Hob kissing Jack, and Jack, Hob greeting.
Hob, in a hurry left the lane:
How decent!—what can decency surpass?
And sought the grove—where Hob's two eyes,
Wide staring, saw with huge surprise
His long-ear'd servant Jack, his ass!
Ye gods! how happy was the meeting!
Hob kissing Jack, and Jack, Hob greeting.
‘Adzooks! a lucky pill!’ quoth Hob:
‘Yes, yes, the pill hath done the job.’
Pill grew the subject of the village tattle:
At last it gain'd a heap of fame;
Not only good for blind and lame,
But good, too, for recovering all stray'd cattle.
‘Yes, yes, the pill hath done the job.’
Pill grew the subject of the village tattle:
At last it gain'd a heap of fame;
Not only good for blind and lame,
But good, too, for recovering all stray'd cattle.
492
Now ponder well ye parents dear—
Pitt's no catholicon, I fear:
Pitt is a violent cathartic,
Creating very grievous gripes
(In butcher phrase) among our tripes,
Making the stomach, head, and heart sick:
Pitt's no catholicon, I fear:
Pitt is a violent cathartic,
Creating very grievous gripes
(In butcher phrase) among our tripes,
Making the stomach, head, and heart sick:
Producing much evacuation
Unto a poor consumptive nation,
That wants restoratives called pounds,
To give her strength, and heal her wounds.
Unto a poor consumptive nation,
That wants restoratives called pounds,
To give her strength, and heal her wounds.
Though clever in his Treasury rostrum,
Pitt never yet possess'd a nostrum
For bringing all stray'd millions back again:
The guineas he sent out, we find,
Were like so many beetles blind,
Rambling the Lord knows where, like show'rs of rain,
Making the German regions smile,
Instead of Albion's famish'd isle.
Pitt never yet possess'd a nostrum
For bringing all stray'd millions back again:
The guineas he sent out, we find,
Were like so many beetles blind,
Rambling the Lord knows where, like show'rs of rain,
Making the German regions smile,
Instead of Albion's famish'd isle.
THE HEDGE-HOGS;
A FABLE.
THE hedge-hogs in a war most fatal,
A war commenc'd with the dog-nation,
Like us, unlucky, losing each land-battle,
And trembling all for their salvation,
Agreed to furnish contribution,
With patriotic resolution,
As much as every hedge-hog could afford:
One of the tribe, no hedge-hog sutler,
An Elwes or a Sir John Cutler,
And master of a comfortable hoard,
Affected to be scarcely worth a crown,
Therefore unable to come down.
The hedge-hog council sent to let him know
The tide could never be so low:
A war commenc'd with the dog-nation,
Like us, unlucky, losing each land-battle,
And trembling all for their salvation,
Agreed to furnish contribution,
With patriotic resolution,
As much as every hedge-hog could afford:
One of the tribe, no hedge-hog sutler,
An Elwes or a Sir John Cutler,
And master of a comfortable hoard,
Affected to be scarcely worth a crown,
Therefore unable to come down.
493
The tide could never be so low:
‘Enter my house, and be convinc'd,’ quoth he.
The messenger stepp'd in, and pry'd about:
Appearances left not a doubt—
Of wealth a vestige not a soul could see:
In full conviction then they left the door:
‘'Squire Hedge-hog certainly is very poor.’
The messenger stepp'd in, and pry'd about:
Appearances left not a doubt—
Of wealth a vestige not a soul could see:
In full conviction then they left the door:
‘'Squire Hedge-hog certainly is very poor.’
As from the door, the humble door
Of our 'Squire Hedge-hog all so poor,
Full convinc'd, they pass'd along;
A hillock of fresh earth appear'd,
Seeming but very lately rear'd:
This hatch'd suspicions somewhat strong.
Of our 'Squire Hedge-hog all so poor,
Full convinc'd, they pass'd along;
A hillock of fresh earth appear'd,
Seeming but very lately rear'd:
This hatch'd suspicions somewhat strong.
With teeth and claws they oped the mound—
Where such a treasure soon was found!
Forth trots the poverty-struck 'squire,
Begging and praying beyond measure,
They would not take away his treasure:
Was sorry he had been so great a liar;
Where such a treasure soon was found!
Forth trots the poverty-struck 'squire,
Begging and praying beyond measure,
They would not take away his treasure:
Was sorry he had been so great a liar;
‘Was ready with his quota to the state,
T'assist the war, and give the dogs their sate.’
But, no—it was against the laws: they found
He could not have it—no such thing,
As treasure under ground
Belong'd of right unto the king.
T'assist the war, and give the dogs their sate.’
But, no—it was against the laws: they found
He could not have it—no such thing,
As treasure under ground
Belong'd of right unto the king.
Thus was 'Squire Hedge-hog very fairly bit,
Now to apply this fable to 'Squire Pitt:
Now to apply this fable to 'Squire Pitt:
Pitt, canst thou say with a good grace,
That thine is not a hedge-hog-case?
Believe me, thou'rt not poor in purse,
However thou mayst be in spirit:
Thine income, for the nation's curse,
Is much, I fear, beyond thy merit.
That thine is not a hedge-hog-case?
Believe me, thou'rt not poor in purse,
However thou mayst be in spirit:
Thine income, for the nation's curse,
Is much, I fear, beyond thy merit.
494
The Cinque Ports, with a few remunerations,
Prove to John Bull some trifling obligations,
Which Wyndham cheese-parings might call;
Which cheese-parings, if in my pow'r,
Should, in the space of half an hour,
Return to where they started, like a ball.
Prove to John Bull some trifling obligations,
Which Wyndham cheese-parings might call;
Which cheese-parings, if in my pow'r,
Should, in the space of half an hour,
Return to where they started, like a ball.
Had justice nicely weigh'd thy true desert,
What had she giv'n?—I'll tell thee what—
The dame had giv'n, to please thy lofty heart,
Just half enough to feed a rat:
An animal of vicious nature,
Who, after breakfasting, and dining,
And supping in a house, and undermining,
Leaves it a prey to fire and water
(As soon as all the plunder ceases),
To tear it in a thousand pieces.
What had she giv'n?—I'll tell thee what—
The dame had giv'n, to please thy lofty heart,
Just half enough to feed a rat:
An animal of vicious nature,
Who, after breakfasting, and dining,
And supping in a house, and undermining,
Leaves it a prey to fire and water
(As soon as all the plunder ceases),
To tear it in a thousand pieces.
ODE VIII. TO PITT.
‘Blessed are those who nought expect,
For they shall not be disappointed;’
But thou didst hope a grand effect—
Great sighings from the Lord's anointed.
For they shall not be disappointed;’
But thou didst hope a grand effect—
Great sighings from the Lord's anointed.
Strong was thy hope that majesty would send,
Of terror full, to his good friend
Of Downing Street post-haste away,
Petitioning—‘Pitt, all is over,
‘The French will quickly land at Dover,
And no one to oppose and slay:
Of strength thou art a mighty tow'r:
Come, come, and all thy thunder pour;
Without thee, England meets her fate—
Haste, haste, and save a sinking state!’
Of terror full, to his good friend
Of Downing Street post-haste away,
Petitioning—‘Pitt, all is over,
‘The French will quickly land at Dover,
And no one to oppose and slay:
Of strength thou art a mighty tow'r:
Come, come, and all thy thunder pour;
495
Haste, haste, and save a sinking state!’
Such were a very flattering sound!
How had the echoes rung around!
But no such voice, alas! was ever heard!
No thunder roll'd, no tempest blew;
But easy quite as an old shoe,
Saint James's for thy loss appear'd.
Soft as a cat's, indeed, was thy retreat,
That moves down stairs upon her velvet feet.
How had the echoes rung around!
But no such voice, alas! was ever heard!
No thunder roll'd, no tempest blew;
But easy quite as an old shoe,
Saint James's for thy loss appear'd.
Soft as a cat's, indeed, was thy retreat,
That moves down stairs upon her velvet feet.
But prithee swallow, Pitt, a question,
That mayn't agree with thy digestion:
Where was the blush, the blush of shame,
When, to exalt the blind and lame,
Thou gav'st of eloquence that dainty dish?
Yet people will in answer say,
‘'Tis the world's way—
We never hear a man cry, “Stinking fish !”’
That mayn't agree with thy digestion:
Where was the blush, the blush of shame,
When, to exalt the blind and lame,
Thou gav'st of eloquence that dainty dish?
Yet people will in answer say,
‘'Tis the world's way—
We never hear a man cry, “Stinking fish !”’
A few of his fellow-labourers in the political vineyard, that remained after his expulsion. Mr. Pitt's eulogium on those rags of his administration produced a universal smile, even from his own party.
TO PITT,
IN CONTINUATION.
'TIS whisper'd thou wert turn'd to door,Most Job-like, very, very poor.
Poor man! poor man! ah, what a pity!
Farewell to dinners in the city!
Farewell to grocers ev'ry one—
Othello's occupation's gone!
496
Witness the following little story.
THE SULTAN AND THE DOG.
A MIGHTY sultan of the east,
On ev'ry dainty used to feast:
(How different from the beggar and his bone!)
Who drank, too, Burgundy, I ween;
For ev'ry thing in style was seen,
Becoming one who sat upon a throne.
On ev'ry dainty used to feast:
(How different from the beggar and his bone!)
Who drank, too, Burgundy, I ween;
For ev'ry thing in style was seen,
Becoming one who sat upon a throne.
It chanc'd that war, all-pow'rful war,
So apt the wisest schemes to mar,
And change the master to the humble slave.
Fix'd on the sultan his steel claws,
Clapp'd an embargo on his jaws,
And words, hard words, instead of victuals, gave.
So apt the wisest schemes to mar,
And change the master to the humble slave.
Fix'd on the sultan his steel claws,
Clapp'd an embargo on his jaws,
And words, hard words, instead of victuals, gave.
The king was beat—to prison sent, in short—
Coarse was his fare, the coarsest sort:
A jug of milk was sent to him for dinner:
Enter a dog, who, while the king
Was musing on some lofty thing,
Stole slily to the milk, the thievish sinner;
Forc'd in his head, and lapp'd each drop, no doubt,
But could not get his head felonious out.
Coarse was his fare, the coarsest sort:
A jug of milk was sent to him for dinner:
Enter a dog, who, while the king
Was musing on some lofty thing,
Stole slily to the milk, the thievish sinner;
Forc'd in his head, and lapp'd each drop, no doubt,
But could not get his head felonious out.
So off, with his jugg'd jowl, the rascal ran.
The monarch, smiling, mark'd the theft,
And of his dinner though bereft,
With much good-humour thus began:
The monarch, smiling, mark'd the theft,
And of his dinner though bereft,
With much good-humour thus began:
‘Fortune's a fickle dame: but yesterday
A hundred camels scarce could bear
My quantities of kitchen-ware,
And now a cur can carry it away!’
A hundred camels scarce could bear
My quantities of kitchen-ware,
And now a cur can carry it away!’
497
OH, with a disposition soft as silk,
So humble, affable, and mild;
Art thou reduc'd, too, to a jug of milk,
Sweet Nature's child?
Speak—Did the famish'd wolves, alas!
Eat all the flesh of the dead ass,
And leave thee nothing but the bones?
Say, hadst thou not the face to mump
One steak, from the poor nation's rump,
To calm gaunt Famine's hollow moans?
So humble, affable, and mild;
Art thou reduc'd, too, to a jug of milk,
Sweet Nature's child?
Speak—Did the famish'd wolves, alas!
Eat all the flesh of the dead ass,
And leave thee nothing but the bones?
Say, hadst thou not the face to mump
One steak, from the poor nation's rump,
To calm gaunt Famine's hollow moans?
Ah, me! we all are very poor;
Tax'd to the very eyes, I'm sure!
Where is the article that pays no duty?
Nought 'scapes!—not woman's fascinating beauty!
Tax'd to the very eyes, I'm sure!
Where is the article that pays no duty?
Nought 'scapes!—not woman's fascinating beauty!
Lo, many a little charming Phillis,
For vending roses sweet and lilies,
And love-inspiring, luscious, balmy kisses;
Although the growth of their own cheek;
Although the growth of their own neck;
Although the growth of their own lip, sweet Misses;
Are forc'd to bridewell's horrid fare,
For dealing in unlicens'd ware—
Spoil'd all their pretty hops, and skips, and glee,
Because the justice had not got his fee.
For vending roses sweet and lilies,
And love-inspiring, luscious, balmy kisses;
Although the growth of their own cheek;
Although the growth of their own neck;
Although the growth of their own lip, sweet Misses;
Are forc'd to bridewell's horrid fare,
For dealing in unlicens'd ware—
Spoil'd all their pretty hops, and skips, and glee,
Because the justice had not got his fee.
ODE IX. TO PITT AGAIN.
Say, Pitt, dost thou so easy part
With pow'r, the idol of thy heart,
And, philosophic, yield to thy disgrace;
Leave Downing Street and stately rooms,
For secrecy and spectre glooms
Of solitary, poor Park Place;
To live within a little hole,
As melancholy as a mole?
With pow'r, the idol of thy heart,
And, philosophic, yield to thy disgrace;
Leave Downing Street and stately rooms,
For secrecy and spectre glooms
Of solitary, poor Park Place;
498
As melancholy as a mole?
Thou thoughtest we should all wear mourning,
Black, weeping all for thy returning—
All with white handkerchiefs to catch wet sorrow:
Ah! know there are not ten who care
Five farthings were they now to hear
That thou wert in a jail to-morrow.
Black, weeping all for thy returning—
All with white handkerchiefs to catch wet sorrow:
Ah! know there are not ten who care
Five farthings were they now to hear
That thou wert in a jail to-morrow.
Pitt, thou hast been in office long enough:
Yes, thou hast had a handsome swing;
Thy hide, too, like a bull-hide tough,
Has met, indeed, with many a sting,
Or dart, that must have kill'd all but the man
Whose modesty not only took our flour
(The conscientious miller of the hour),
But made its bow, too, to the bran:
Nay ready, too, upon its back,
To carry off the very sack!
Yes, thou hast had a handsome swing;
Thy hide, too, like a bull-hide tough,
Has met, indeed, with many a sting,
Or dart, that must have kill'd all but the man
Whose modesty not only took our flour
(The conscientious miller of the hour),
But made its bow, too, to the bran:
Nay ready, too, upon its back,
To carry off the very sack!
Suspended on a bit of steel,
Employ'd in sniggling,
A large and slippery eel,
The world seems glad to see thee wriggling.
Employ'd in sniggling,
A large and slippery eel,
The world seems glad to see thee wriggling.
How hast thou work'd for life and soul,
To slip again into thy hole!
Aye, gape, and writhe, and spread thy fin,
Poor Master Fish, you won't get in.
To slip again into thy hole!
Aye, gape, and writhe, and spread thy fin,
Poor Master Fish, you won't get in.
A bungling chemist, thou hast manag'd badly;
Manag'd the state-alembic sadly,
With all thy cunning and thy pains:
The finer parts are off! in air!
Howe'er thine ignorance may stare,
And nought but caput mortuum remains.
Manag'd the state-alembic sadly,
With all thy cunning and thy pains:
The finer parts are off! in air!
Howe'er thine ignorance may stare,
And nought but caput mortuum remains.
So much, Pitt, for our sublimed constitution,
The subject of thy fierce and ceaseless fires!
And, lo, by dint of time and resolution,
Thou hast well crucibled thy country 'squires;
And Mother Bank, the blindest of old crones,
Extracting heaps of gold from stocks and stones.
The subject of thy fierce and ceaseless fires!
And, lo, by dint of time and resolution,
Thou hast well crucibled thy country 'squires;
499
Extracting heaps of gold from stocks and stones.
When ye began this righteous war,
Where was your tutelary star?
Ye never dreamt of danger till too late.
‘A war with France! oh, that's soon o'er;
A fox-chase, fox-chase, nothing more;
Fun, fun—just coursing a poor hare, or cat.’
Where was your tutelary star?
Ye never dreamt of danger till too late.
‘A war with France! oh, that's soon o'er;
A fox-chase, fox-chase, nothing more;
Fun, fun—just coursing a poor hare, or cat.’
Such was your speech: but, sir, it doth appear,
That this same cat is now become a bear,
Whose claws have lately held you snug,
And giv'n a cursed Cornish hug.
That this same cat is now become a bear,
Whose claws have lately held you snug,
And giv'n a cursed Cornish hug.
ODE X. TO HENRY DUNDAS, ESQ.
For a great empire, fast undoing,Something, indeed should have been brewing,
Better than brandy and strong beer:
Something was wanting, to my humble thinking,
Besides good eating and hard drinking,
To keep the leaky ship from foundering clear:
Yet 'tis well known that e'er the vessel's sunk,
The sailors commonly get drunk.
Now thou art off, I long to see,
In thine own language, ‘Wha wants me?’
It will not be at all surprising
To catch thee, Harry, advertising.
If mad to face a second storm,
Take an advertisement in form.
500
ADVERTISEMENT
A steady man, near sixty years of age,
Would very willingly engage
As butler to a minister of state,
And overlook the plate.
Would very willingly engage
As butler to a minister of state,
And overlook the plate.
But should the plate by chance be carried off,
And not a hogshead or a bottle left;
He begs to say, he won't be fool enough
To answer for the leakage, or the theft.
And not a hogshead or a bottle left;
He begs to say, he won't be fool enough
To answer for the leakage, or the theft.
If wanted, he can have, by God's good grace,
An exc'llent character from his last place.
Please to direct to Mister H. Dundas,
At the old sign—the Bottle and the Glass.
An exc'llent character from his last place.
Please to direct to Mister H. Dundas,
At the old sign—the Bottle and the Glass.
A MORAL CONCLUSION.
In this world's wild, uncertain chase,
What strange events at times take place!
Some bright with joy, some black with sorrow!
Omnium est rerum vicissitudo!
To day what wonders I and you do,
That happen not again to-morrow!
What strange events at times take place!
Some bright with joy, some black with sorrow!
Omnium est rerum vicissitudo!
To day what wonders I and you do,
That happen not again to-morrow!
Hawkesb'ry, and Wyndham, Canning, Long,
Were under-strappers to Will Pitt;
Forerunners, oft they gave their tongue
Before the great man pour'd his wit.
Were under-strappers to Will Pitt;
Forerunners, oft they gave their tongue
Before the great man pour'd his wit.
Thus Paul's four small clock-quarters ('prentice boys)
Instruct their mighty master when to sound:
Paul solemn listens to the tinkling noise,
Then breaks in thunder to the world around!
Instruct their mighty master when to sound:
Paul solemn listens to the tinkling noise,
Then breaks in thunder to the world around!
501
But herald under-strappers now no more,
Pitt out of office, the broad farce is o'er;
Flung from his pedestal amid the rabble,
Deep-thundering Pitt is—poor old Goody Gabble.
Pitt out of office, the broad farce is o'er;
Flung from his pedestal amid the rabble,
Deep-thundering Pitt is—poor old Goody Gabble.
Ah me! sic transit gloria mundi—
Such things will be till moon and sun die,
And earth our ashes, our pale embers cover:
And really, when we sum up all,
What's life?—A blast—a little squall.—
Death's calm must come at last, and all is over—
All in our tombs in peace—not one
To read ‘Hic jacet’ on the stone!
Such things will be till moon and sun die,
And earth our ashes, our pale embers cover:
And really, when we sum up all,
What's life?—A blast—a little squall.—
Death's calm must come at last, and all is over—
All in our tombs in peace—not one
To read ‘Hic jacet’ on the stone!
| The Works of Peter Pindar [i.e. John Wolcot] | |