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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| ODES TO MR. PAINE, AUTHOR OF ‘RIGHTS OF MAN;’
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 | The Works of Peter Pindar [i.e. John Wolcot] |  |
213
ODES TO MR. PAINE, AUTHOR OF ‘RIGHTS OF MAN;’
On the intended Celebration of the Downfall of the French Empire, BY A SET OF BRITISH DEMOCRATS, On the 14th of July.
Aude aliquid brevibus Gyaris, vel carcere dignum,
Si vis esse aliquis. ------
JUVENAL
Si vis esse aliquis. ------
JUVENAL
215
ODE TO MR. PAINE.
O paine! thy vast endeavour I admire!
How brave the hope to set a realm on fire!
Ambition smiling prais'd thy giant wish:
Compar'd to thee, the man to gain a name,
Who to Diana's temple put the flame,
A simple minnow to the prince of fish.
How brave the hope to set a realm on fire!
Ambition smiling prais'd thy giant wish:
Compar'd to thee, the man to gain a name,
Who to Diana's temple put the flame,
A simple minnow to the prince of fish.
Say, didst thou fear that Britain was too blest,
Of peace thou most delicious pest?
How shameful that this pin's head of an isle,
Whilst half the globe in grief, should wear a smile!
How dares the wren amidst his hedges sing,
Whilst eagles droop the beak, and flag the wing?
Of peace thou most delicious pest?
How shameful that this pin's head of an isle,
Whilst half the globe in grief, should wear a smile!
How dares the wren amidst his hedges sing,
Whilst eagles droop the beak, and flag the wing?
O must the scythe of Desolation sleep,
So keen for carnage, stay its mighty sweep,
And Havock on his hunter drop his lash;
Spurr'd, arm'd, and ripe to storm with groans the sky,
To chase an empire, and enjoy the cry,
The cry of millions—what a glorious crash!
So keen for carnage, stay its mighty sweep,
And Havock on his hunter drop his lash;
Spurr'd, arm'd, and ripe to storm with groans the sky,
To chase an empire, and enjoy the cry,
The cry of millions—what a glorious crash!
What pity thy combustibles were bad!
How Death had grinn'd delight, and Hell been glad,
To see our liberties o'erturning;
And War, whose expectation tiptoe stood,
Ready for hills of slain, and seas of blood,
Who drops his death's head flag, and puts on mourning!
How Death had grinn'd delight, and Hell been glad,
To see our liberties o'erturning;
And War, whose expectation tiptoe stood,
Ready for hills of slain, and seas of blood,
Who drops his death's head flag, and puts on mourning!
216
Why, cur-like, didst thou sneak away, nay fly?
Dread'st thou of anger'd Justice the sharp eye?
Return, and bring Mesdames Poissardes along:
And lo, with Friendship's squeeze and fire to meet 'em,
And oaths of ev'ry hue to greet 'em,
The sisterhood of Billingsgate shall throng.
Dread'st thou of anger'd Justice the sharp eye?
Return, and bring Mesdames Poissardes along:
And lo, with Friendship's squeeze and fire to meet 'em,
And oaths of ev'ry hue to greet 'em,
The sisterhood of Billingsgate shall throng.
The jails may open all their dreary cells,
Where horror brooding on damnation dwells,
And vomit forth their grisly bands;
Surrounded by this squalid host,
Paine shall their leader be, and boast;
Paine, Gordon, and Rebellion, shall shake hands.
Where horror brooding on damnation dwells,
And vomit forth their grisly bands;
Surrounded by this squalid host,
Paine shall their leader be, and boast;
Paine, Gordon, and Rebellion, shall shake hands.
Importance, in a nut-shell hide thy head!
I deem'd myself a dare-devil in rhime,
To whisper to a king of modern time,
And try to strike a royal foible dead;
Whilst dauntless thou, of treason mak'st no bones,
But strik'st at kings themselves upon their thrones!
I deem'd myself a dare-devil in rhime,
To whisper to a king of modern time,
And try to strike a royal foible dead;
Whilst dauntless thou, of treason mak'st no bones,
But strik'st at kings themselves upon their thrones!
ODE II.
Hell hears our pray'r!—all is not lost—
Behold a chosen few, a host,
Stand forth the champions of the glorious cause!
The jails are opening!—hark! the iron doors!
Chains clank!—the brazen throat of Tumult roars;
And lo, the destin'd victims of the laws!
Disgorg'd, they pour in dark'ning tribes along,
And mingle with our democratic throng!
Behold a chosen few, a host,
Stand forth the champions of the glorious cause!
The jails are opening!—hark! the iron doors!
Chains clank!—the brazen throat of Tumult roars;
And lo, the destin'd victims of the laws!
Disgorg'd, they pour in dark'ning tribes along,
And mingle with our democratic throng!
Bedlam unlocks her melancholy cells!
Forth rush the maniacs grim, with joyful yells;
They tear their blankets, clap their phrensy'd hands;
They grind their teeth, they dance, they foam, they stare;
They rend with bursts of laughter wild the air;
And join, they know not why, our thick'ning bands.
Forth rush the maniacs grim, with joyful yells;
They tear their blankets, clap their phrensy'd hands;
They grind their teeth, they dance, they foam, they stare;
They rend with bursts of laughter wild the air;
And join, they know not why, our thick'ning bands.
217
Thou sun, withdraw thy hated day;
To Æthiop darkness yield thy reign;
And hide in clouds, O moon, thy ray,
Nor peep upon our spectre scene!—
Though faint thy solitary light,
We feel thy feeble beam too bright.
To Æthiop darkness yield thy reign;
And hide in clouds, O moon, thy ray,
Nor peep upon our spectre scene!—
Though faint thy solitary light,
We feel thy feeble beam too bright.
Ah! Peace, thy triumph now is o'er!
Thy cheek so cheerful smiles no more;
Thine eye with disappointment glooms!
Our music shall be Nature's cry;
Our ears shall feast on Pity's sigh—
Lo, haggard Death prepares his tombs!—
Thy cheek so cheerful smiles no more;
Thine eye with disappointment glooms!
Our music shall be Nature's cry;
Our ears shall feast on Pity's sigh—
Lo, haggard Death prepares his tombs!—
Hot with the fascinating grape, we reel;
The full proud spirit of rebellion feel!—
Son of Sedition, daring Paine,
Whilst speech endues thy treason tongue
Bid the roof ring with damned song,
And Erebus shall echo back the strain.
The full proud spirit of rebellion feel!—
Son of Sedition, daring Paine,
Whilst speech endues thy treason tongue
Bid the roof ring with damned song,
And Erebus shall echo back the strain.
SONG BY MR. PAINE.
Come, good fellows all—Confusion's the toast,
And success to our excellent cause—
As we've nothing to lose, lo, nought can be lost;
So, perdition to monarchs and laws!
And success to our excellent cause—
As we've nothing to lose, lo, nought can be lost;
So, perdition to monarchs and laws!
France shows us the way—an example how great!
Then, like France, let us stir up a riot;
May our names be preserv'd by some damnable feat,
For what but a wretch would lie quiet?
Then, like France, let us stir up a riot;
May our names be preserv'd by some damnable feat,
For what but a wretch would lie quiet?
As we all are poor rogues, 'tis most certainly right,
At the doors of the rich ones to thunder;
Like the thieves who set fire to a dwelling by night
And come in for a share of the plunder.
At the doors of the rich ones to thunder;
Like the thieves who set fire to a dwelling by night
And come in for a share of the plunder.
218
Whoever for mischief invents the best plan,
Best murders, sets fire, and knocks down,
The thanks of our club shall be giv'n to that man,
And hemlock shall form him a crown.
Best murders, sets fire, and knocks down,
The thanks of our club shall be giv'n to that man,
And hemlock shall form him a crown.
Our empire has tower'd with a lustre too long;
Then blot out this wonderful sun;
Let us arm then at once, and in confidence strong
Complete what dark Gordon begun.
Then blot out this wonderful sun;
Let us arm then at once, and in confidence strong
Complete what dark Gordon begun.
But grant a defeat—we are hang'd, and that's all;
A punishment light as a feather;—
Yet we triumph in death, as we Catalines fall,
And go to the Devil together.
A punishment light as a feather;—
Yet we triumph in death, as we Catalines fall,
And go to the Devil together.
| The Works of Peter Pindar [i.e. John Wolcot] | |