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 HORRORS OF BRIBERY;
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 | The Works of Peter Pindar [i.e. John Wolcot] |  |
283
THE HORRORS OF BRIBERY;
A PENITENTIAL EPISTLE, FROM Philip Hamlin, Tinman, to the Right Honourable Henry Addington, Prime Minister.
------ Omnia Romæ
Cum pretio ------
JUVENAL.
Cum pretio ------
JUVENAL.
Poor Hamlin, hammering in his tin-shop, thought
That ministers, like saucepans, might be bought;
That courtiers, like a fish-kettle or platter,
Were made of very malleable matter.
That ministers, like saucepans, might be bought;
That courtiers, like a fish-kettle or platter,
Were made of very malleable matter.
285
From those hard walls, amidst whose awful round,
The ear with horror feels the clanking chain;
Where sighs from hollow vaults unpitied sound,
And tears of bitterest anguish stream in vain;
The ear with horror feels the clanking chain;
Where sighs from hollow vaults unpitied sound,
And tears of bitterest anguish stream in vain;
Where, faint and fasten'd to th' unfeeling floor,
The wretch desponding mourns amid his gloom;
Expecting Death's dread hand t'unbolt his door,
And lead him half alive into the tomb;
The wretch desponding mourns amid his gloom;
Expecting Death's dread hand t'unbolt his door,
And lead him half alive into the tomb;
From those hard walls poor Hamlin pour'd his sighs,
Much marv'ling how he came to such a place,
And, lifting his two melancholy eyes,
Address'd the author of his sad disgrace:
Much marv'ling how he came to such a place,
And, lifting his two melancholy eyes,
Address'd the author of his sad disgrace:
‘An't please your worship, hear me, sir, I pray—
Hear me a bit—Lord! Lord! I thort no harm;
No more, please God! than of my dying day—
I ne'er once thort of making zich a starm.
Hear me a bit—Lord! Lord! I thort no harm;
No more, please God! than of my dying day—
I ne'er once thort of making zich a starm.
‘I thort that voakes were brib'd in Lenden too,
Az well az in the country—zo thort I;
I caan't but zay I look'd confounded blue,
To hear the terney-general's grievious cry.
Az well az in the country—zo thort I;
I caan't but zay I look'd confounded blue,
To hear the terney-general's grievious cry.
286
‘Lord! half the corporations, zo I've heard,
Look 'pon a bribe no more than bites o'vleas,
And zwallow oaths, Lord! not one crume afear'd,
Az glibly az they clunk their bread and cheese.
Look 'pon a bribe no more than bites o'vleas,
And zwallow oaths, Lord! not one crume afear'd,
Az glibly az they clunk their bread and cheese.
‘I never thort that 'twas a sin or shame;
Vor az vor squeamishness I never vound,
I caan't zay that I thort myself to blame,
That voakes wud quarl way two good thousand pound.
Vor az vor squeamishness I never vound,
I caan't zay that I thort myself to blame,
That voakes wud quarl way two good thousand pound.
‘I know the last election Plymouth votes,
Aye, many, many look'd confounded grum:
They thort of zomething vor to buy mun coats,
Fath! happy to have got but half the sum.
Aye, many, many look'd confounded grum:
They thort of zomething vor to buy mun coats,
Fath! happy to have got but half the sum.
‘Gert voakes have slipp'd a purse into my hand,
Guineas—zometimes 'twas eight and zometimes ten—
And zo I thort, with maney at command,
To give a dowzer to gert voak agen.
Guineas—zometimes 'twas eight and zometimes ten—
And zo I thort, with maney at command,
To give a dowzer to gert voak agen.
‘And simply thus I thort, that I might do,
Lord! never dreaming of a jail, d'ye zee;
But thort that az my betters did zo too,
It never could be wickedness in me.
Lord! never dreaming of a jail, d'ye zee;
But thort that az my betters did zo too,
It never could be wickedness in me.
‘Zomebody'll have the place, I do suppose—
A Plymouth man, I make no sort of doubt;
A vote too—but, that God-Almighty knows;
I really think that things wull zo turn out.
A Plymouth man, I make no sort of doubt;
A vote too—but, that God-Almighty knows;
I really think that things wull zo turn out.
‘Then why not me?—a tinker, very true.
But there's Squire Canning's brother hath a place:
He was a crock and kittle-mender too;
But had good friends to hoist him from disgrace.
But there's Squire Canning's brother hath a place:
He was a crock and kittle-mender too;
But had good friends to hoist him from disgrace.
‘I own I wanted wisdom for my guide—
Indeed 'twas foolish, out so plain to plump it;
And then, methought, so great indeed my pride,
'Twas handsomer to buy a thing than mump it.
Indeed 'twas foolish, out so plain to plump it;
And then, methought, so great indeed my pride,
'Twas handsomer to buy a thing than mump it.
‘Lord! sir, I kept a reputable shop;
Liv'd well, as any body may suppose:
But so disgrac'd, what have I now to hope;
My goods will stink in ev'ry body's nose.
Liv'd well, as any body may suppose:
But so disgrac'd, what have I now to hope;
My goods will stink in ev'ry body's nose.
287
‘A Newgate bird liv'th there,’ the voakes will cry,
Spit 'pon my goods as they pass by my door;
‘A jailbird!’ will they hoot as they go by,
And never buy a spoon or save-all more.
Spit 'pon my goods as they pass by my door;
‘A jailbird!’ will they hoot as they go by,
And never buy a spoon or save-all more.
‘Nort else had I to offer, sir, indeed,
Had I a vote, 'thad beed another case;
Or had the town of Plymouth beed my own,
Shure, sir, you shud a had it vor the place.
Had I a vote, 'thad beed another case;
Or had the town of Plymouth beed my own,
Shure, sir, you shud a had it vor the place.
‘Zoon as old Andrew Hill had slipp'd his breath,
My neighbour Tap, the landlord, com'd to me;
Says he, ‘Leave tinkering—there's a charming death;
Hamlin, an angel of a death!’ quoth he.
My neighbour Tap, the landlord, com'd to me;
Says he, ‘Leave tinkering—there's a charming death;
Hamlin, an angel of a death!’ quoth he.
‘Zounds! what a noghead and a fool!’ says Tap,
‘To mend old crocks, and candlesticks, and kittles—
Thy hammer always going, rap, rap, rap—
And all to git, forseth, a bit o' vittels!
‘To mend old crocks, and candlesticks, and kittles—
Thy hammer always going, rap, rap, rap—
And all to git, forseth, a bit o' vittels!
‘Thy road is now as plain to wealth, my lad,
Plain az from Frankfort-Gate to Plimmoth-Dock,
Then mind thy P's and Q's, and daan't be mad,
And think no more of kittles or a crock.’
Plain az from Frankfort-Gate to Plimmoth-Dock,
Then mind thy P's and Q's, and daan't be mad,
And think no more of kittles or a crock.’
‘Quoth I, ‘How, neighbour Tap?’—Zo then Tap zed,
‘Thee now mayst git a birth all warm and snug.’
And then he tould me Andrew Hill was dead—
Zo he and I together drink'd a mug.
‘Thee now mayst git a birth all warm and snug.’
And then he tould me Andrew Hill was dead—
Zo he and I together drink'd a mug.
‘Lord! Hamlin,’ quoth a, ‘what a beast thee art,
When thou mayst be a gentleman complete;
To stand here hammering in a stinking shart,
Moiling as black's the dowl with mucks and sweat!’
When thou mayst be a gentleman complete;
To stand here hammering in a stinking shart,
Moiling as black's the dowl with mucks and sweat!’
‘Zo, sir, 'twas not my fault, your honour zees;
'Twas landlord Tap, you vind, that made me do't:
The fellow mus'd me with a hundred lees,
And I was fool enough to hearken to't.
'Twas landlord Tap, you vind, that made me do't:
The fellow mus'd me with a hundred lees,
And I was fool enough to hearken to't.
‘Hamlin,’ quoth Tap, and wink'd—‘I know gert voak;
They be no better than their neighbours, mun:
At curts, Lord! Lord! mun, honesty's a joke,
Froth leeke my fresh draad beer—Lord! downrert fun.
They be no better than their neighbours, mun:
At curts, Lord! Lord! mun, honesty's a joke,
Froth leeke my fresh draad beer—Lord! downrert fun.
288
‘Offer the minister at once the bait,
Thou'lt find a gudgeon—zee if I'm not right;
Now daan't take squeamish scruples in thy pate:
Snap is the word at court—I know he'll bite.’
Thou'lt find a gudgeon—zee if I'm not right;
Now daan't take squeamish scruples in thy pate:
Snap is the word at court—I know he'll bite.’
‘And zo zays I again to landlord Tap,
‘Art sartain that he's hungry, Tap, and poor?’
‘Try—sniggle for'n,’ quoth he, ‘I know he'll snap.’
Snap with the devil to't, it is, I'm shore.
‘Art sartain that he's hungry, Tap, and poor?’
‘Try—sniggle for'n,’ quoth he, ‘I know he'll snap.’
Snap with the devil to't, it is, I'm shore.
‘There's Pitt,’ quoth Tap, ‘as poor az a charch mouze,
Without a dish or plate upon his shelf;
Trying to git again into the Howze,
And make a little zomething for his zelf.’
Without a dish or plate upon his shelf;
Trying to git again into the Howze,
And make a little zomething for his zelf.’
‘Zo did I trust to Tap—and, leek a fool,
Believ'd the minister was leek a vish;
Thort leek a poor weak boy that goesh to school,
And leek a blockhead thort to bread my dish.
Believ'd the minister was leek a vish;
Thort leek a poor weak boy that goesh to school,
And leek a blockhead thort to bread my dish.
‘I know mun all,’ quoth Tap, ‘I know mun well—
Iss, Hamlin, iss, I know mun well anew:
I've had mun at my howze, both gert and smaall—
With all their grandeur 'tis a dam queer crew.’
Iss, Hamlin, iss, I know mun well anew:
I've had mun at my howze, both gert and smaall—
With all their grandeur 'tis a dam queer crew.’
‘And is it zo?’ zaid I. ‘It is,’ zaid he;
‘I tell thee, Hamlin, no man know'th mun better.’
‘Then Tap,’ zaid I, in answer to'n, ‘dost zee,
I'll do't—I'll zend the chancellor a letter.’
‘I tell thee, Hamlin, no man know'th mun better.’
‘Then Tap,’ zaid I, in answer to'n, ‘dost zee,
I'll do't—I'll zend the chancellor a letter.’
‘And zo I zet me down at once, and wrote
The letter that did give zo much offence;
I guess that you can zay it all by rote,
Which show'd, I must confess, my want of sense.
The letter that did give zo much offence;
I guess that you can zay it all by rote,
Which show'd, I must confess, my want of sense.
‘God know'th my heart, I never thort of harm:
Your conscience, Lord! I didn't mean to shock it;
Two thousand pound, I thort, wud keep ye warm,
Nor thort it was a crime to fill your pocket.
Your conscience, Lord! I didn't mean to shock it;
Two thousand pound, I thort, wud keep ye warm,
Nor thort it was a crime to fill your pocket.
‘'Tis cruel hard for to be put to jail,
Vor doing what gert voakes do ev'ry day:
I thort I might come down upon the nail,
And tern a penny in an honest way.
Vor doing what gert voakes do ev'ry day:
I thort I might come down upon the nail,
And tern a penny in an honest way.
289
‘I do assure ye, sir, that I'm a vote—
Had many a guinea slipt into my hand;
And thort at any time that I might do't,
And thort it was the way of all the land.
Had many a guinea slipt into my hand;
And thort at any time that I might do't,
And thort it was the way of all the land.
‘The gert voakes shak'd our hands as blest as grigs,
And with King George's image made mun burn.
Az gert voak buy us leek a lot of pigs,
Why not we buy the gert voak in return?
And with King George's image made mun burn.
Az gert voak buy us leek a lot of pigs,
Why not we buy the gert voak in return?
‘Tap bid me write and gauge the servants all,
And bid me try your worship's maid and man;
But, leek a blockhead, I forgot it all,
And wrote to measter, 'stead of Joan and Jan.
And bid me try your worship's maid and man;
But, leek a blockhead, I forgot it all,
And wrote to measter, 'stead of Joan and Jan.
‘I must zay this for Tap, he bid me squint,
And zee how things were manag'd in your houze;
If covetous leek zome voakes in the law,
Not only starv'd theirselves, but ev'ry mouze.
And zee how things were manag'd in your houze;
If covetous leek zome voakes in the law,
Not only starv'd theirselves, but ev'ry mouze.
‘I've heerd, sir, a fine lady
, zome time dead,
Did keep a shop vor titles, and got rich;
And sold mun just as bakers sell their bread,
Or as a porkman sellth a ham or flitch.
Did keep a shop vor titles, and got rich;
And sold mun just as bakers sell their bread,
Or as a porkman sellth a ham or flitch.
‘Upjump'd Sir Jan, Sir James, Sir George, Sir Will;
Up with his star and garters rose my lord:
This was the case, I hear, and may be still;
And places too she sold, to make a hoard.
Up with his star and garters rose my lord:
This was the case, I hear, and may be still;
And places too she sold, to make a hoard.
‘Now there's Lord Rolle, that I remember well,
When simple Mister Rolle—not one crumb more;
What mad'n a great lord? Lord! I can tell—
'Twas Pitt, and Devonshire int'rest, to be shore.
When simple Mister Rolle—not one crumb more;
What mad'n a great lord? Lord! I can tell—
'Twas Pitt, and Devonshire int'rest, to be shore.
‘Lord bless us! I remember that as how
He was a simple 'squire, upon my soul!
And meen'd, too, that his wife, my lady now,
Call'd'n nort else but Janny, Janny Rolle.
He was a simple 'squire, upon my soul!
And meen'd, too, that his wife, my lady now,
Call'd'n nort else but Janny, Janny Rolle.
290
‘Now by God's marcy, and your kindness, sir,
If ever from this hell I should escape;
From home I shall be zo asham'd to stir,
There'll be such talk, and laugh, and grin, and gape!
If ever from this hell I should escape;
From home I shall be zo asham'd to stir,
There'll be such talk, and laugh, and grin, and gape!
‘I never now shall have my pretty rambles,
Afeard of ev'ry butcher, ev'ry drab;
Ne'er go for beef and mutton to the shambles,
Nor to the fish-stalls, for a plaice or crab.
Afeard of ev'ry butcher, ev'ry drab;
Ne'er go for beef and mutton to the shambles,
Nor to the fish-stalls, for a plaice or crab.
‘I ne'er must put my nose upon the Hoe
,
The people's jeers wud give me zuch a shock;
And slily by Mill-Prison I must go,
To sell my pots and dripping-pans in Dock.
The people's jeers wud give me zuch a shock;
And slily by Mill-Prison I must go,
To sell my pots and dripping-pans in Dock.
‘The world's too bad, I speak it to their shame;
When a man vall'th, the meanest rogue will bang un:
Zo with a dog too—give un a bad name,
And ev'ry body hath a rope to hang un.
When a man vall'th, the meanest rogue will bang un:
Zo with a dog too—give un a bad name,
And ev'ry body hath a rope to hang un.
‘Voakes will point at me as I go along;
The very boys will hold me by the tail,
And crack their jokes, and zing a jeering song,
And whoop, ‘Here's Mister Hamlin come from jail!’
The very boys will hold me by the tail,
And crack their jokes, and zing a jeering song,
And whoop, ‘Here's Mister Hamlin come from jail!’
‘I thought of high preferment, I declare;
But that, I fear, will never come to pass;
That I should be one day our Plymouth mare,
But, Lord! my lot's to be a Plymouth ass.
But that, I fear, will never come to pass;
That I should be one day our Plymouth mare,
But, Lord! my lot's to be a Plymouth ass.
‘Instead of marching proudly through our town,
Amidst the town-voakes, all with wondering faces;
Deck'd all in scarlet, Lord! a fine fur gown,
Just leek a king, behind the silver maces.
Amidst the town-voakes, all with wondering faces;
Deck'd all in scarlet, Lord! a fine fur gown,
Just leek a king, behind the silver maces.
291
‘Lord! Lord! to be confin'd in theese dark place,
And have a rope—for zo it may befall!
Ah me! it is a very different case
Between a room in Newgate, and Guildhall.
And have a rope—for zo it may befall!
Ah me! it is a very different case
Between a room in Newgate, and Guildhall.
‘Shore! sir, I've drink'd your health a hundred times,
And never dream'd that you could be uncivil;
Have wish'd zome vokes the gallows for their crimes,
And wish'd the warhoop fellows to the devil.
And never dream'd that you could be uncivil;
Have wish'd zome vokes the gallows for their crimes,
And wish'd the warhoop fellows to the devil.
‘Indeed, sir, you're a favourite with us,
Thort mild and human; yes, indeed you are,
But Pitt, and all his dirty gang, we cuss;
Though Dock and Plymouth git zo much by war.
Thort mild and human; yes, indeed you are,
But Pitt, and all his dirty gang, we cuss;
Though Dock and Plymouth git zo much by war.
‘We hate the Grenville faction, hate mun all,
A pack of hungry hounds, just like starvation;
That snarl and quarl, and grin, and bark, and bawl,
Wanting to burst their guts, upon the nation.
A pack of hungry hounds, just like starvation;
That snarl and quarl, and grin, and bark, and bawl,
Wanting to burst their guts, upon the nation.
‘I love his majesty—deny't who can?
True to his government and ev'ry thing.
Whene'er he dyeth, Heaven bless the gentleman!
I daan't think we shall git a better king.
True to his government and ev'ry thing.
Whene'er he dyeth, Heaven bless the gentleman!
I daan't think we shall git a better king.
‘Now, sir, be please to let a body know,
And let me zee the end of all my cares;
That if I'm to be hang'd, that I may go,
And make my peace with God, and zay my pray'rs.’
And let me zee the end of all my cares;
That if I'm to be hang'd, that I may go,
And make my peace with God, and zay my pray'rs.’
Such are the tinman's tuneful sighs,
That from his gloomy mansion rise,
Something like song from dying swans of old:
Then Addington, thy rigour quit,
Nor boast the iron heart of P---;
But show that thine was form'd in Mercy's mould.
Yes, let the culprit be forgiv'n—
No actual rape took place, thank Heav'n!
He wish'd to buy thine Honour's pure embraces.
I own with awkwardness he strove—
A country bumpkin in his love—
A simple Cymon, 'midst the polish'd Graces.
Then smile, and put the bumpkin out of pain,
And send him whistling to his shop agen.
That from his gloomy mansion rise,
Something like song from dying swans of old:
Then Addington, thy rigour quit,
Nor boast the iron heart of P---;
But show that thine was form'd in Mercy's mould.
292
No actual rape took place, thank Heav'n!
He wish'd to buy thine Honour's pure embraces.
I own with awkwardness he strove—
A country bumpkin in his love—
A simple Cymon, 'midst the polish'd Graces.
Then smile, and put the bumpkin out of pain,
And send him whistling to his shop agen.
It is asserted, and from very respectable authority, that this pathetic elegy was sent to the minister before the sentence took place, and produced a most fortunate peripætia in this Newgate drama.
| The Works of Peter Pindar [i.e. John Wolcot] | |