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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| VIII. | EPISTLE VIII. |
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 | The Works of Peter Pindar [i.e. John Wolcot] |  |
262
EPISTLE VIII.
Cousin Nic, couldst thou see some court faces!
Most rueful indeed! a yard long—
Gone, gone are the smiles and the graces;
Most capital subjects for song!
Most rueful indeed! a yard long—
Gone, gone are the smiles and the graces;
Most capital subjects for song!
I've just met with some of the crew:
Bull-head C*rd---n, dead in the dumps;
Salisb'ry, looking confoundedly blue,
And his countess as blue as poor Numps.
Bull-head C*rd---n, dead in the dumps;
Salisb'ry, looking confoundedly blue,
And his countess as blue as poor Numps.
Maids of honour, all wand'ring about,
Are seen with a sorrowful air—
With their lily-white handkerchiefs out—
Sad flags, cousin Nic, of despair!
Are seen with a sorrowful air—
With their lily-white handkerchiefs out—
Sad flags, cousin Nic, of despair!
Old Liver—you know who I mean—
Old Jenk—of the closet old rats—
Will feel his bones cracking, I ween,
(Heav'n grant it!) by one of our cats!
Old Jenk—of the closet old rats—
Will feel his bones cracking, I ween,
(Heav'n grant it!) by one of our cats!
Smart lads in the council will shine,
Instead of the stupid and tubbish;
Choice spirits, instead of dull swine;
Bright Jewels, instead of old rubbish.
Instead of the stupid and tubbish;
Choice spirits, instead of dull swine;
Bright Jewels, instead of old rubbish.
The bed-chamber lords are in dudgeon;
And cropsick the grooms and the pages,
As if struck on the head with a bludgeon,
Seem to say, ‘Farewell honour and wages!’
And cropsick the grooms and the pages,
As if struck on the head with a bludgeon,
Seem to say, ‘Farewell honour and wages!’
The cooks, in a pitiful stew,
The scullions, half out of their wits—
‘Adieu to the platters! Adieu
To the dripping-pans, sauce-pans, and spits!’
The scullions, half out of their wits—
‘Adieu to the platters! Adieu
To the dripping-pans, sauce-pans, and spits!’
263
Lord Salisb'ry's poor butler and groom,
With other young knights of the mews,
And other young knights of the broom,
For their places all shake in their shoes.
With other young knights of the mews,
And other young knights of the broom,
For their places all shake in their shoes.
As a whisper is current abroad,
When the prince shall arrive at the throne,
Farewell to the farce of an ode;
Thus the ‘Black's occupation is gone.’
When the prince shall arrive at the throne,
Farewell to the farce of an ode;
Thus the ‘Black's occupation is gone.’
Or should this same ode be in vogue,
Musicians will come from that class
Which know the sweet lark from a hog;
Braham's voice from the bray of an ass!
Musicians will come from that class
Which know the sweet lark from a hog;
Braham's voice from the bray of an ass!
Pitt is just like a fox for a hen,
Slily squinting and creeping about,
Snuffing wildly the wind—but what then,
If Dame Partlet refuse to come out?
Slily squinting and creeping about,
Snuffing wildly the wind—but what then,
If Dame Partlet refuse to come out?
How cut down!—from the line to a lugger!—
The grocers observe him at Dover,
And may send him a pound of brown sugar;
But as to the statue, 'tis over.
The grocers observe him at Dover,
And may send him a pound of brown sugar;
But as to the statue, 'tis over.
Ah! Lucifer, son of the morning,
How fall'n! ah! how lost all thy light!
No longer the heavens adorning!—
Poor planet—good night t'ye—good night!
How fall'n! ah! how lost all thy light!
No longer the heavens adorning!—
Poor planet—good night t'ye—good night!
And yet—though the fellow I hate,
I still must acknowledge his merit;
Though his quack'ries and insolent state
I despise, let me honour his spirit.
I still must acknowledge his merit;
Though his quack'ries and insolent state
I despise, let me honour his spirit.
264
Retir'd, from political battle,
To his castle to learn to be wary,
He astonies the fields and the cattle,
With tactics yclep'd mili-tary!
To his castle to learn to be wary,
He astonies the fields and the cattle,
With tactics yclep'd mili-tary!
He has got all the technicals, pat—
Studying Saxe and Vauban, night and day;
And already has kill'd one ram cat,
Three magpies, two owls, and a jay!
Studying Saxe and Vauban, night and day;
And already has kill'd one ram cat,
Three magpies, two owls, and a jay!
Over hedges and ditches and quags,
Huge feats he is seen to perform!
He has torn a poor dunghill to rags,
And taken a bog-house by storm!
Huge feats he is seen to perform!
He has torn a poor dunghill to rags,
And taken a bog-house by storm!
To Pitt, are all weapons alike:—
With his bayonet he stabb'd an old sow;
He pierc'd a large calf with a pike,
And slew with a broad-sword the cow.
With his bayonet he stabb'd an old sow;
He pierc'd a large calf with a pike,
And slew with a broad-sword the cow.
Many rams has he tumbled about,
And crack'd of some yearlings the skull;
Put of oxen a score to the rout,
And leap'd on the back of the bull!
And crack'd of some yearlings the skull;
Put of oxen a score to the rout,
And leap'd on the back of the bull!
For his tutor, he takes Gen'ral Moore,
As great in a battle his skill is;
And thus a fit Chiron, I'm sure,
For instructing his pupil Achilles.
As great in a battle his skill is;
And thus a fit Chiron, I'm sure,
For instructing his pupil Achilles.
Together for glory they run!
If a hedge-hog they meet, he is dead!
If a squirrel—bounce, off goes a gun!
If a mushroom—smack, off goes his head!
If a hedge-hog they meet, he is dead!
If a squirrel—bounce, off goes a gun!
If a mushroom—smack, off goes his head!
Is a stump of a tree in their way?
With a fury heroic they rend it!
Is a mole-hill? in battle array,
In column, they march to defend it!
With a fury heroic they rend it!
Is a mole-hill? in battle array,
In column, they march to defend it!
On counterscarps, curtains, and ravelins,
Mines, sausages, bridges, and ditches;
Pikes, bayonets, and ramrods, and javelins,
Palisadoes, and guns, and their breeches—
Mines, sausages, bridges, and ditches;
Pikes, bayonets, and ramrods, and javelins,
Palisadoes, and guns, and their breeches—
265
They so talk! such a hist'ry of wars!
Ev'n at meal-times untir'd is the tongue;
When, lo! with the voice of a Mars,
They sing of proud triumph the song.
Ev'n at meal-times untir'd is the tongue;
When, lo! with the voice of a Mars,
They sing of proud triumph the song.
INVITATION TO BONAPARTE:
A DUET,
By Mr. Pitt and General Moore.
BONAPARTE, come over:
We will meet thee at Dover;
And the generals our forces commanding
Will salute thy two ears
With three excellent cheers,
And a warm Cornish hug, at thy landing.
We will meet thee at Dover;
And the generals our forces commanding
Will salute thy two ears
With three excellent cheers,
And a warm Cornish hug, at thy landing.
Louis, Jerome, and Jo,
Let us see too, and know,
With thy uncles and aunts—a brave band:
Bring likewise thy cousins,
Of whom thou hast dozens—
And bring the old fox, Talleyrand.
Let us see too, and know,
With thy uncles and aunts—a brave band:
Bring likewise thy cousins,
Of whom thou hast dozens—
And bring the old fox, Talleyrand.
Thou'lt be frighten'd to see
How brisk we shall be,
To bestow ev'ry thing in our pow'r:
Most excellent air;
Nice lodgings to spare;
Ev'n the best to be found in the Tower.
How brisk we shall be,
To bestow ev'ry thing in our pow'r:
Most excellent air;
Nice lodgings to spare;
Ev'n the best to be found in the Tower.
As French manners are thine,
And so very divine!
Thou never wilt fail of delight;
As the monkeys by day
Will chatter away;
And the tigers howl music at night!
And so very divine!
Thou never wilt fail of delight;
As the monkeys by day
Will chatter away;
And the tigers howl music at night!
266
As thou oft did protest,
That a fight is a feast;
And as no man, indeed, can be thinner;
Thou shalt have—not a pullet,
But a dainty hot bullet,
And a pike for thy teeth, after dinner!
That a fight is a feast;
And as no man, indeed, can be thinner;
Thou shalt have—not a pullet,
But a dainty hot bullet,
And a pike for thy teeth, after dinner!
Come the Consul whenever he will—
And he means it, when Neptune is calmer—
Pitt will send him a d*mn'd bitter pill
From his fortress, the castle of Walmer!
And he means it, when Neptune is calmer—
Pitt will send him a d*mn'd bitter pill
From his fortress, the castle of Walmer!
T. S.
| The Works of Peter Pindar [i.e. John Wolcot] | |