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] |  |
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.
| The Works of Peter Pindar [i.e. John Wolcot] | |