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] |  |
EPISTLE I.
Prepare thy two ears, Cousin Nic
;
Lo! our senses are all of employ full;
And our stomachs of poverty sick,
Will speedily sing, ‘O be joyful!’
Lo! our senses are all of employ full;
And our stomachs of poverty sick,
Will speedily sing, ‘O be joyful!’
Hope peeps from a cloud on our squad,
Whose beams have been long in deep mourning:
'Tis a lane, let me tell ye, my lad,
Dev'lish long, that has never a turning.
Whose beams have been long in deep mourning:
'Tis a lane, let me tell ye, my lad,
Dev'lish long, that has never a turning.
But now for this nice bit of news—
Know, our worthy old monarch is dying!
If we mind but our P's and our Q's,
We shall quickly be roasting and frying.
Know, our worthy old monarch is dying!
If we mind but our P's and our Q's,
We shall quickly be roasting and frying.
Yes, Fame will soon publish aloud,
Of good eating and drinking a story;
As the sun of Pall-Mall from his cloud,
Will soon be ascending in glory.
Of good eating and drinking a story;
As the sun of Pall-Mall from his cloud,
Will soon be ascending in glory.
250
Cousin Nicholas, credit the muse,
Who scorns to report a false tale;
That the minister shakes in his shoes—
Harpoon'd is our mighty state-whale!
Who scorns to report a false tale;
That the minister shakes in his shoes—
Harpoon'd is our mighty state-whale!
How he flounders about, and makes fun,
Poor Mister Leviathan Addy!
Lo, his grandeur, so lately a sun,
Is sinking (sad fall!) to a caddy.
Poor Mister Leviathan Addy!
Lo, his grandeur, so lately a sun,
Is sinking (sad fall!) to a caddy.
Yes, poor Addy, is deep in a bog;
A nice pickle, you well may suppose—
Yery like, between sawyers a log,
His sharp-tooth'd good friends, and his foes.
A nice pickle, you well may suppose—
Yery like, between sawyers a log,
His sharp-tooth'd good friends, and his foes.
Yes, the fellow will get a dry shave;
His chops will be held pretty fast;
And, thank God, Cousin Nic, we shall have
The loaves and the fishes at last.
His chops will be held pretty fast;
And, thank God, Cousin Nic, we shall have
The loaves and the fishes at last.
Believe ev'ry sentence I speak:
Sailing orders are issued—and mind,
G---'s anchor is really a-peak,
Sails all set, with an excellent wind!
Sailing orders are issued—and mind,
G---'s anchor is really a-peak,
Sails all set, with an excellent wind!
The Doctors, good servants of Death,
Are call'd in, and prescribing their slop!
When thou wishest to shorten thy breath,
Nic, send for pill, potion, and drop.
Are call'd in, and prescribing their slop!
When thou wishest to shorten thy breath,
Nic, send for pill, potion, and drop.
Yes, the quacks are call'd suddenly in—
Pepys, Heberden, Reynolds, and Millman!
Who would now for his life give a pin?
Four! enough, without fever, to kill man.
Pepys, Heberden, Reynolds, and Millman!
Who would now for his life give a pin?
Four! enough, without fever, to kill man.
‘In a number of counsellors,’ Nic,
‘There is wisdom’—so says the black cloth.
Yet a proverb as good we may pick,
And as old—‘The more cooks the worse broth.’
‘There is wisdom’—so says the black cloth.
Yet a proverb as good we may pick,
And as old—‘The more cooks the worse broth.’
On the call for the knights of the potion,
Some look pleasant, and others full sad:
All London in short is in motion,
And much on th' alert is our squad.
Some look pleasant, and others full sad:
All London in short is in motion,
And much on th' alert is our squad.
251
The tradesman, once proud of the feather
,
Now cast higher glory their eye on—
Soap, herrings, wigs, mousetraps, and leather,
Are all looking out for a lion.
Now cast higher glory their eye on—
Soap, herrings, wigs, mousetraps, and leather,
Are all looking out for a lion.
The tailors cross-legg'd on their boards,
Needle-arm'd, hand-extended, prepar'd
To stab the black cloth with their swords,
The instant the death is declar'd.
Needle-arm'd, hand-extended, prepar'd
To stab the black cloth with their swords,
The instant the death is declar'd.
And likewise the milliners all,
Arm'd with scissars and pins, on the gape;
On the blacks with dire fury to fall,
And cut through deep columns of crape.
Arm'd with scissars and pins, on the gape;
On the blacks with dire fury to fall,
And cut through deep columns of crape.
Such a mob around Buckingham-house,
Like shrimps all together they cling,
That there's scarce room enough for a mouse,
So alarm'd for the life of the king!
Like shrimps all together they cling,
That there's scarce room enough for a mouse,
So alarm'd for the life of the king!
From the mountain, and forest, and fen,
(What a tumult, and bellow, and roar!)
Rush the beasts to peep into his den,
To spy if good Leo's no more.
(What a tumult, and bellow, and roar!)
Rush the beasts to peep into his den,
To spy if good Leo's no more.
T. S.
| The Works of Peter Pindar [i.e. John Wolcot] | |