The Probationary Odes of Jonathan Pindar, Esq A cousin of Peter's, and candidate for the post of Poet Laureat to the C. U. S. In two parts |
ODE I.
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The Probationary Odes of Jonathan Pindar, Esq | ||
ODE I.
SALUTATORY ODE.
Jonathan reneweth his Homage—complaineth of the Desertion of his Printer—laboureth to remove Prejudices against him—displayeth his Knowledge in Natural History, and concludeth with a little Story.
With heart, and wind and limb, sound as a roach:
My humble Ditties if you'll not disdain
Thus, cap in hand, once more I will approach.
Or, I 'd been with you early in the Winter;
Bishops could better do without a Church
Than lofty Poets can without a Printer.
Your worships, truly, do not like my name;
Tho' Cousin Peter may be, to his shame.
So high, as to assault a Monarch's heel:
And sure I am, you'll every man deny,
That e're a shaft of mine has made you feel.
Unless I had him stretch'd upon the ground,
My blunted arrows from his royal Boot,
As from enchanted armour would rebound:
As to attack our Daddy-Vice, so big,
His Brain my shafts could never penetrate,
Lost in the bushy bulwark of his Wig :
Securely doth defy the Fowler's Lead,
Nor heeds its rattling terrors, all a rush,
Which ne'er can reach that Citadel his head.
Then Jonathan, at once, were stiff in Gold!
Such aukward trappings I should wish to spurn;
As Putnam, when he lost his dog of old .
As Argus faithful, and as Argus bold!
Who ne'er deserted in the hour of need,
But sled in terror from a coat of gold.
His awful brow contracted to a frown,
The very thought of which my soul pervades,
Might, like the Gorgon, turn me into stone.
Affords its nurslings such a charming shelter,
Whither, if they but hear a Raven scream,
They run, like little 'possums, helter-skelter;
Of many a sav'ry morsel between whiles;
And chirp and flutter all his snout beneath,
To warn of him of that damn'd Ichneumon G * s;
Harder than Elephant's or Rhinoceros' hide,
'Gainst which the Dart of Cephalus would fail,
Or e'en the Shafts of Phœbus glance aside,
When G * s; shall rear his fatal Battle-Ax:
Till then, his Wrens may feast upon his Gums,
Nor for a moment from their meal relax .
Were I to shoot them down his very throat;
And even should they hit a little Wren,
He'd turn and peck at me again, no doubt.
Upon your Bard when he appears before ye;
Suppose that for a moment I should try
To entertain you with a little Story.
THE MAGPIES—A TALE.
To Court, and hopp'd familiarly about,
From Room to Room; still running in and out,
And peeping in each corner, whilst they staid.
Where, in deep council and profound debate,
Sat all the feather'd great heads of the State
T' avert the prospect of approaching War;
And ev'ry Savage beast had gather'd round
To get poor Chanticleer upon the ground,
Who still upon the house-top crow'd and vaulted.
And in his heart the Quadrupeds prefer'd,
To starve the Cock at once gave his advice.
Not understanding more than half the matter,
About poor Chanticleer began to chatter,
And swore he would be starv'd outright, they knew.
A Bird for wisdom fam'd was heard to say,
Nor Bats nor Chatterers our nation sway,
The feather'd tribe are all the Cook's allies .
The Lilliputian's name for Gulliver: The epithet of man-mountain, as applied to our modern Atlas, must be confessed to be peculiarly happy.
Whether the venerable figure here alluded to is so well convinced of the strength of his pericranium as to dispense with that bulwark at present, or whether he is at length so far convinced of the absurdity of singularity, as to relinquish that favorite ornament, it is certain that he has lately laid aside his wig.
In the war which preceded the revolutionary war, General Putnam was an officer in the army. He was presented with a suit of laced regimentals by the General Assembly of the Province, and having dressed himself in them, on some Gala day, a favorite dog of his was so much affrighted at his metamorphosis, that he clapped his tail between his legs, and ran off yelping, and never after was seen by his master, who protested he would not have given his dog for a dozen suits of laced clothes.
Some writers on natural history mention that the crocodile admit the wren to this kind of familiarity, and that the bird in return gives him warning on the approach of the ichneumon, his natural and only formidable enemy, who attacks him by scratching out his eyes: others say he destroys his eggs.
The Probationary Odes of Jonathan Pindar, Esq | ||