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

The Poet sweetly reproveth the Emperor for neglecting to turn a penny in an honest Way, and demonstrateth the Inconveniency of Generosity —proving that a Mind on a broad Scale may be productive of narrow Circumstances.

Great king, thou never educatest swine.
Nor takest goslins under thy tuition;
Nor boardest by the week thy neighbour's kine,
Like Pharaoh's—that is, in a lean condition.

Nor dost thou cut down palaces to pens,
Nor sendest unto market cocks and hens;
Nor to a butcher sellest pork and beef:
Nor wool nor egg merchant, O king, art thou;
Nor dost thou watch the girl who milks the cow,
For fear the girl might sip, and prove a thief;

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Nor settest traps to save thy fowls and eggs,
And catch thy loyal subjects by the legs.—

Nor dost thou go a shopping, mighty king;
I know that thou despisest such a thing;
Yes, to expose such meanness thou art loath—
Thou scorn'st to pride thyself on buying cheap,
And for some trifle a huge pother keep,
An ounce of blackguard , or a yard of cloth.

Nor dost thou (which some people may deem strange)
Send pages with a halfpenny for change;
Nor dost thou (which would be a crying sin)
Cheat of his dues the parson of Pe-kin.

Thy mind was form'd upon an ampler scale:
Each thought is generosity—a whale:
Not a poor sprat to dunghills to be hurl'd—
Thy soul a dome illum'd by Grandeur's rays,
That o'er thy mighty empire casts a blaze;
A beacon to inform a world.

But, ah! Kien Long, thou never wilt be rich,
If generosity thy heart bewitch:
What says Œconomy? ‘Let subjects groan—
Let Misery's howl be music to thine ear—
Yes, let the widow's and the orphan's tear
Fall printless on thy heart as on a stone.’

The souls of many kings are vulgar entries,
With not a rushlight 'midst the dismal winding;
A long, dark, dangerous, dreary way, past finding—
Hypocrisy and Meanness the two sentries.

Ambition, that on riches casts its eyes,
Mounts on the tempest of a people's sighs!
O emp'ror, Generosity's a fool—
She wants advice from saving Wisdom's school.

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Look at a smiling field of grass:
Nothing can eat it out, nor horse, nor ass,
Provided that you put, to spare the feast,
A padlock on the mouth of ev'ry beast.
Thus, muzzle but thy palace now and then,
Thou wilt be wealthy among scepter'd men.

Invite not a whole million to thine hunt:
Thy purse with such a heavy weight would grunt.
In England, when a king a deer unharbours,
The sport a half a dozen butchers share;
Of smutty chimney-sweeps perchaunce a pair;
With probably a brace or two of barbers.

What though 'tis not quite royal—still we boast
Of gaining glorious fun with little cost.
The pocket is a very serious matter—
Small beer allayeth thirst—nay, simple water.

The splendor of a chase, or feast, or ball,
Though strong, are passing, momentary rays—
The lustre of a liltle hour; that's all—
While guineas with eternal splendor blaze.

A coarse snuff, so emphatically called.

This is the number of the emperor's attendants, in general, at a hunt.