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] |  |
252
EPISTLE II.
Thurlow now is the Carleton-house mentor!
You know him, Nic—bony and big,
With a voice like the voice of a Stentor;
His old phiz in a bushel of wig.
You know him, Nic—bony and big,
With a voice like the voice of a Stentor;
His old phiz in a bushel of wig.
All the pages, and footmen, and maids,
As his wisdom march'd solemnly in,
(The impudent varlets and jades!)
Gather'd round him with wonder and grin.
As his wisdom march'd solemnly in,
(The impudent varlets and jades!)
Gather'd round him with wonder and grin.
Cousin Nic, thou hast hawk'd, I'm sure,
And witness'd a large German owl,
Hopping forth with a visage demure,
To attract all the nations of fowl.
And witness'd a large German owl,
Hopping forth with a visage demure,
To attract all the nations of fowl.
At once all the birds of the air,
Grey, and yellow, green, brown, black, and blue,
Flock around him with chatter and stare—
‘Whence d'ye come? who the devil are you?’
Grey, and yellow, green, brown, black, and blue,
Flock around him with chatter and stare—
‘Whence d'ye come? who the devil are you?’
All our laws he will sagely expound,
Give the parson a twig by the ear;
And to add to the graces of sound,
He will teach his new pupil to swear.
Give the parson a twig by the ear;
And to add to the graces of sound,
He will teach his new pupil to swear.
At some of his thoughts you would wonder;
Rudely utter'd, we dare not deny;
He resembles a loud clap of thunder,
That frightens and brightens the sky.
Rudely utter'd, we dare not deny;
He resembles a loud clap of thunder,
That frightens and brightens the sky.
Yet this in his praise I will say,
That whether he's sober or mellow,
Though as blunt as a bear in his way,
True genius admires the old fellow.
That whether he's sober or mellow,
Though as blunt as a bear in his way,
True genius admires the old fellow.
‘So much for old gravity!’ Nic,
Thou exclaimest, ‘Oh! tempora mutantur!’
Or swear'st I'm clapping a trick.—
Cousin Nic, I'll be c*rs'd if I banter.
Thou exclaimest, ‘Oh! tempora mutantur!’
Or swear'st I'm clapping a trick.—
Cousin Nic, I'll be c*rs'd if I banter.
T. S.
| The Works of Peter Pindar [i.e. John Wolcot] | |