The Works of Peter Pindar [i.e. John Wolcot] :: :: University of Virginia Library

He continues to wish that he had been so happy as to have been a Vote in a Cornish Borough; and, with Tears in his Eyes, enumerates the Pleasures and Honours he has lost.

Urganda, if a favourite cat lies in,
Invites her friends to caudle and rich cake:
But when my muse is brought to bed, no din,
No how d'ye visits my cool neighbours make!

Or is the monkey sick, he takes his bed,
Old Slop is sent for to prescribe for Pug—
Complains the muse on what shall rest her head?
What soul will send a pillow or a rug?

O had I been a vote, a borough vote!
Then Fortune would have squeez'd me by the hand;
Then would my back have worn a different coat—
Shirts, stockings, shoes, had been at my command.

Then with his lofty lordship I had din'd
With other votes, a numerous band at table;
Had drank his health, receiv'd his smiles so kind,
'Midst clattering knives and forks, and sounds of Babel.

Then had I mark'd the wonders of his face,
Gap'd at his speech and swallow'd ev'ry word;
Then had I got the promise of a place—
For promises are frequent with a lord.

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Then had I touch'd his lordship's hand or cuff,
And measur'd him all over, inch by inch;
Mark'd how his lordship gracefully took snuff,
And possibly been honour'd with a pinch!

Then had I heard of boys the joyous yells—
To praise the Lord, the cannon's loud endeavour,
And guns of marrow-bones, and jingling bells,
Mix'd with sublime huzzas, ‘My lord for ever!’

Then with his lordship I had march'd the town,
With may'r and aldermen, a pompous band—
To enter the votes' houses up and down,
And seen him shake Tom Stirrup by the hand.

And now Ben Block the barber, now Sam Sledge,
Now Stitch the tailor, now the mason Shovel;
Old Scrape the scavenger, the woodman Wedge;
In short, each happy wight that own'd a hovel.

Then had I seen the lord and grannies greet,
Seen the old dames their mouths for kisses wipe—
Heard the loud smacks of busses, all so sweet,
And seen his lordship smoke their stumps of pipe!

Then had I seen his lordship to his chaise;
Take leave, with may'r and aldermen, in sorrow;
Hop'd weather would be fine, and good the ways,
And that he soon again would bless the borough.

No matter who the bidders—all's the same;
The man that hard for Cloacina labours,
With gold is welcome to the good old dame—
Ship-brokers, or ship-breakers, or ship-swabbers.

An old electioneering lady, known in Cornwall by the name of the Dame of the West—the fair subject of many a pleasant song.