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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| IV. | EPISTLE IV. |
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 | The Works of Peter Pindar [i.e. John Wolcot] |  |
255
EPISTLE IV.
I met mother H---n in the Park;
The dam of our great Master C*nn---g;
Forth flying, as brisk as a lark,
With her daughters perspiring and fanning!
The dam of our great Master C*nn---g;
Forth flying, as brisk as a lark,
With her daughters perspiring and fanning!
‘Lord bless me! my dear Mister Scout,
I'm this moment come up in the hoy:
I'm so glad, then, to find ye here out;
Lord! Lord! I'm transparent with joy.
I'm this moment come up in the hoy:
I'm so glad, then, to find ye here out;
Lord! Lord! I'm transparent with joy.
‘Let's sit down upon one of the benches—
Tell one t'other what each of us hears:
But first, sir, these girls are my wenches—
Jolly jades, Mister Scout, for their years.
Tell one t'other what each of us hears:
But first, sir, these girls are my wenches—
Jolly jades, Mister Scout, for their years.
‘I'll sell no more ointments
, not me!
No! that would my consequence level!
Great prefarment I quickly shall see,
So my boxes may roll to the Devil.
No! that would my consequence level!
Great prefarment I quickly shall see,
So my boxes may roll to the Devil.
256
You have heard, Mister Scout, I suppose,
How I got my nice little appointment:
Mister Pitt, sir, whom ev'ry one knows—
I open'd his winkers with ointment!
How I got my nice little appointment:
Mister Pitt, sir, whom ev'ry one knows—
I open'd his winkers with ointment!
‘So raw and so swelled was each eye,
He could not peep out of a hole:
Sir, it is not a bit of a lie,
The man was as blind as a mole!
He could not peep out of a hole:
Sir, it is not a bit of a lie,
The man was as blind as a mole!
‘Sir, administration is weak;
Water-gruel! no more, Mister Scout.
We shall soon hear the minister squeak;
We shall hear him for mercy cry out.
Water-gruel! no more, Mister Scout.
We shall soon hear the minister squeak;
We shall hear him for mercy cry out.
‘You remember, Lord North, the great ox,
How he ran in a frighted condition,
And bellow'd to Portland and Fox,
And so form'd the fine fam'd coalition.
How he ran in a frighted condition,
And bellow'd to Portland and Fox,
And so form'd the fine fam'd coalition.
‘This will happen agen, if we please!
Yes, yes, and the thing shall be done;
And Addington crawl on his knees,
And bellow to Pitt and my son.
Yes, yes, and the thing shall be done;
And Addington crawl on his knees,
And bellow to Pitt and my son.
‘We shall get out the statue at last!
It shall be brought forward—it must—
Yes, yes, we'll make up for the past:
I'll kick up a dev'l of a dust.
It shall be brought forward—it must—
Yes, yes, we'll make up for the past:
I'll kick up a dev'l of a dust.
‘Mister Scout, we can now muster strong—
This day will I go to the grocer's,
And give him a spice of my tongue,
And call them great fat-headed dozers.
This day will I go to the grocer's,
And give him a spice of my tongue,
And call them great fat-headed dozers.
257
‘I'll have Pitt, in nice gingerbread, too,
Finely gilt, with the anchor of Hope;
And thus will expose him to view,
In the baker's and pastry-cook's shop.
Finely gilt, with the anchor of Hope;
And thus will expose him to view,
In the baker's and pastry-cook's shop.
‘There are numbers of methods, no doubt,
By which popularity's made,
And I know them all, Master Scout;
I think I'm no fool in that trade.
By which popularity's made,
And I know them all, Master Scout;
I think I'm no fool in that trade.
‘I would take forth an owl from his hole,
(Now I don't mean a sarcasm on Pitt);
And I'd put the grave bird on a pole,
And the nation should kneel to tee-whit.
(Now I don't mean a sarcasm on Pitt);
And I'd put the grave bird on a pole,
And the nation should kneel to tee-whit.
‘You have heard of his marriage, I guess—
Nice match! oh, a very nice match!
Half a million of money! not less!
O Lord! 'twas a beautiful catch!
Nice match! oh, a very nice match!
Half a million of money! not less!
O Lord! 'twas a beautiful catch!
‘Yet how mortally proud they all be!
Three days, sir, before the grand wedding,
Bundled off were my daughters and me;
Pack'd off in the mail, bed and bedding.
Three days, sir, before the grand wedding,
Bundled off were my daughters and me;
Pack'd off in the mail, bed and bedding.
‘For we wern't of importance enough,
Our court to great people to pay;
And so we were all order'd off,
For fear of disgracing the day!
Our court to great people to pay;
And so we were all order'd off,
For fear of disgracing the day!
‘But the pride of the Scots was so hurt,
When they found we sold bobbin and inkle!
O Lord! 'twas descending to dirt;
It was coupling a whale with a winkle.
When they found we sold bobbin and inkle!
O Lord! 'twas descending to dirt;
It was coupling a whale with a winkle.
‘I dare swear, if I sat by her side,
Her elbow away she would twitch,
For fear of her elegant hide—
I might probably give her the itch!
Her elbow away she would twitch,
For fear of her elegant hide—
I might probably give her the itch!
‘Proud ma'am need not toss up her nose,
Who, perhaps, owes her fortune to jobbin:
A shop is no sin, I suppose.
And Jobbin's no better than bobbin.
Who, perhaps, owes her fortune to jobbin:
A shop is no sin, I suppose.
And Jobbin's no better than bobbin.
258
‘I could whisper a word to a Scot,
That amongst the great munchers of currie ,
That lacks are not easily got,
Not honestly made in a hurry.
That amongst the great munchers of currie ,
That lacks are not easily got,
Not honestly made in a hurry.
‘'Slife! what's all her money to me,
That I'm to be clapp'd on the shelf?
Thank Heav'n, I'm as wholesome as she,
And a Christian as good as herself.
That I'm to be clapp'd on the shelf?
Thank Heav'n, I'm as wholesome as she,
And a Christian as good as herself.
‘What signify riches and titles?
What signifies richness of blood?
Or what ev'n the nicest of victuals,
If a body ben't vartuous and good?
What signifies richness of blood?
Or what ev'n the nicest of victuals,
If a body ben't vartuous and good?
‘Pray had Adam and Eve an estate,
Poor souls, when they dropp'd from the moon?
No! they had not a knife nor a plate,
Not a table, nor dish, nor a spoon.
Poor souls, when they dropp'd from the moon?
No! they had not a knife nor a plate,
Not a table, nor dish, nor a spoon.
‘Does she think I ha'n't larn'd to behave?
Does she think I caan't sit to a table?
That my parents good scholarship gave,
To eat hay with a horse in a stable?
Does she think I caan't sit to a table?
That my parents good scholarship gave,
To eat hay with a horse in a stable?
‘That my meat, like a hound, I should tug;
That, hog-like, my grinders would work?
Does she think I should cough in the mug,
And pick all my teeth with a fork?
That, hog-like, my grinders would work?
Does she think I should cough in the mug,
And pick all my teeth with a fork?
‘Or snuffle and grunt in my broth,
Then whisk out a mouthful of wind;
Lick my plate, for to save the clean cloth,
And drink healths to the fellows behind?
Then whisk out a mouthful of wind;
Lick my plate, for to save the clean cloth,
And drink healths to the fellows behind?
‘Does she think I was born to be dumb?
Of my tongue, that I have not the use?
Made to listen, and stare, and be mum,
And cannot say, ‘Boh!’ to a goose?
Of my tongue, that I have not the use?
Made to listen, and stare, and be mum,
And cannot say, ‘Boh!’ to a goose?
259
‘She thinks I'm a heathen, no doubt,
Some outlandish beast—that I howl!
I waan't born, no, indeed, Mister Scout,
In a wood, to be scar'd by an owl!
Some outlandish beast—that I howl!
I waan't born, no, indeed, Mister Scout,
In a wood, to be scar'd by an owl!
‘Ups and downs we all see, Master Scout—
This world makes a terrible touse;
Here and there, sir—some in, and some out;
Now a man, and next minute a mouse.
This world makes a terrible touse;
Here and there, sir—some in, and some out;
Now a man, and next minute a mouse.
‘Son C*nn---g shall start up a lord!
Great speaker! a wonderful thinker!
A staff for my boy of the sword;
Rank for Richard, and Tommy the tinker.
Great speaker! a wonderful thinker!
A staff for my boy of the sword;
Rank for Richard, and Tommy the tinker.
‘My girls will so blaze on the town,
Their chariots and phaetons sporting;
Billet-douxing with bucks, derry down!
Such a kettle of fish! such a courting!
Their chariots and phaetons sporting;
Billet-douxing with bucks, derry down!
Such a kettle of fish! such a courting!
‘Lord St. Vincent must go—he shall go—
His anchor's a-peak, never doubt it—
For the man for his office, you know,
Is the man who knows nothing about it.
His anchor's a-peak, never doubt it—
For the man for his office, you know,
Is the man who knows nothing about it.
‘Lord! what has he done worth admiring?
No huge mighty matters, depend on't!
A little hard fighting and firing,
And boarding, and so there's an end on't!
No huge mighty matters, depend on't!
A little hard fighting and firing,
And boarding, and so there's an end on't!
‘Well! Heav'ns bless ye! call soon on me, pray,
To settle th' affairs of the nation—
I now can afford to be gay;
And we'll have a nice jollification.’
To settle th' affairs of the nation—
I now can afford to be gay;
And we'll have a nice jollification.’
Thus ended this nightingale's song!
What a bore, Cousin Nic! what a clack!
What a cock-and-bull tale, what a tongue!
Zounds! 'twould distance the fly of a jack!
What a bore, Cousin Nic! what a clack!
What a cock-and-bull tale, what a tongue!
Zounds! 'twould distance the fly of a jack!
It is called Costello's Collirium, which has experienced a most uncommon sale, from the very fortunate circumstance of having opened the eyes of the Heaven-born minister, who, to exhibit to the world a rich specimen of disinterested gratitude, saddled the nation with pensions on Madam H---n, the Miss H---ns, alias C*nn---gs, alias Reddishes; a pension on her husband, Mr. Richard H---n; a place in the West Indies for one Master Reddish, and military promotion in the East for the other; and to crown the whole, a pension for poor Uncle Tommy, the tinker of Somers Town. What a beautiful nest of caterpillars, ordained by the Heaven-born œconomical minister to devour the few remaining leaves of the old oak! THE EDITOR.
| The Works of Peter Pindar [i.e. John Wolcot] | |