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 CONVENTION BILL;
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| IV. |
 | The Works of Peter Pindar [i.e. John Wolcot] |  |
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THE CONVENTION BILL;
AN ODE.
Odi profanum vulgus, et arceo—
Favete linguis.
HOR. I hate the mob—Avaunt the vulgar throng!
Be padlocks plac'd on ev'ry Briton's tongue.
PITT'S TRANSLATION.
Favete linguis.
HOR. I hate the mob—Avaunt the vulgar throng!
Be padlocks plac'd on ev'ry Briton's tongue.
PITT'S TRANSLATION.
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TO THE READER.
GENTLE READER,
The insufferable licentiousness of the present age, with regard to political opinion, demands an immediate redress. As a freedom of discussion may be the loss of a minister's place; that minister is in the right to make use of his most virtuous majority, to bring in a bill
For binding to the peace the tongue and pen,So hostile to the peace of courtier men,
who, as Pope says of his friend Addison,
—‘damn for arts that caus'd themselves to rise.’Messieurs Pitt and Dundas were not pot valiant when they stumbled on this Convention Act, whatever the world may think. The jolly god, it is said. was for once forced to give place to the goddess yclept Prudence, who has totally presided over this bill, which wisely orders that a dozen men, like a dozen bottles of wine, shall not pass from house to house without a permit. Convinced of the necessity and
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Tries from his pow'r to heave Dundas;
And tongue that, with its crushing wit,
Treads like an elephant, on Pitt,
By Slander urg'd, whose breath of flame
Melts the fair column of a name.
P. P.
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THE CONVENTION BILL; ODE TO MR. PITT.
Accept a convert, ode-composing Peter!
The thunder-bearing bird of British metre!’
Says Fame, from truth not often known to wander:
To thee Job's war-horse from Parnassus, Pitt,
A gentle beast, I kneeling take the bit,
Like tam'd Bucephalus to Alexander;
A horse to other riders so uncivil;
Who rear'd, and plung'd, and kick'd them to the Devil.
The thunder-bearing bird of British metre!’
Says Fame, from truth not often known to wander:
To thee Job's war-horse from Parnassus, Pitt,
A gentle beast, I kneeling take the bit,
Like tam'd Bucephalus to Alexander;
A horse to other riders so uncivil;
Who rear'd, and plung'd, and kick'd them to the Devil.
Since Impudence, assuming Freedom's form,
Near Mother Red-cap brews the dangerous storm,
Assembling such a formidable rout;
Loud threat'ning, too, O Pitt! in evil hour
To blow thee, like the gossamer, from pow'r;
'Tis time, full time, methinks, to look about.
Near Mother Red-cap brews the dangerous storm,
Assembling such a formidable rout;
Loud threat'ning, too, O Pitt! in evil hour
To blow thee, like the gossamer, from pow'r;
'Tis time, full time, methinks, to look about.
Say the full plan thou meanest to pursue,
To curb of liberty this upstart crew:
Our eyes are, hawk-like, on the sharpen'd gaze.
Pronounce how many men shall meet together,
To canvass our political foul weather,
And shake their heads, in hopes of better days.
To curb of liberty this upstart crew:
Our eyes are, hawk-like, on the sharpen'd gaze.
Pronounce how many men shall meet together,
To canvass our political foul weather,
And shake their heads, in hopes of better days.
If not too pert—Thou great reforming man,
How many wilt thou suffer in a clan,
To groan their grievance, whisper woful tale,
Where the small tap-room pours its gin and ale?
How many wilt thou suffer in a clan,
To groan their grievance, whisper woful tale,
Where the small tap-room pours its gin and ale?
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Sedition lurks within a porter-mug—
Eke in a glass of gin the knave lies snug!
Who drinks, in rank rebellion dips his nose!
I like not healths! too oft they carry treason:
Then let us cut at once the rascal's weasand,
That dares to drink ‘a rope to freedom's foes!’
Eke in a glass of gin the knave lies snug!
Who drinks, in rank rebellion dips his nose!
I like not healths! too oft they carry treason:
Then let us cut at once the rascal's weasand,
That dares to drink ‘a rope to freedom's foes!’
And if to news-papers thou turn'st thine eyes,
Hot-beads of treason upon treason rise,
Save Rose's—guiltless of all wit-pollution!
But, if sheer heaviness can aid a cause,
George's two brats shall pound the people's jaws,
As logs and lead do wondrous execution.
Hot-beads of treason upon treason rise,
Save Rose's—guiltless of all wit-pollution!
But, if sheer heaviness can aid a cause,
George's two brats shall pound the people's jaws,
As logs and lead do wondrous execution.
Rebellion taints a whisper, too, I think,
And wondrous danger hides within a wink;
Much in a shrug, and much in lifted eyes;
But, if a groan escape, a monarch dies.
And wondrous danger hides within a wink;
Much in a shrug, and much in lifted eyes;
But, if a groan escape, a monarch dies.
Augustus acted very sagely—for as
He lov'd two poets, Virgil call'd, and Horace,
He issued proclamation, where, quoth he,
‘Let no one poet, upon pain of death
(And, Lord! how dangerous that same loss of breath!)
‘Dare, if he values life, to mention me.’
He lov'd two poets, Virgil call'd, and Horace,
He issued proclamation, where, quoth he,
‘Let no one poet, upon pain of death
(And, Lord! how dangerous that same loss of breath!)
‘Dare, if he values life, to mention me.’
It had a very fine effect, says Fame;
Ev'n cats and puppies reverenc'd Cæsar's name!
Thus let our Cæsar mounted be on high,
And no one take his name in vain, but Pye.
Ev'n cats and puppies reverenc'd Cæsar's name!
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And no one take his name in vain, but Pye.
Behold the pale Chinese! tame slaves of pow'r,
Who, at a Mandarin, in corners cow'r,
Dropping to earth the eye with awe-clad head;
While others yield themselves to panting flight,
Not vent'ring to turn back the fearful sight,
Lest a huge blunderbuss should strike them dead!
Who, at a Mandarin, in corners cow'r,
Dropping to earth the eye with awe-clad head;
While others yield themselves to panting flight,
Not vent'ring to turn back the fearful sight,
Lest a huge blunderbuss should strike them dead!
Such souls in Britons may we hope to see?
Haste, haste, the times to tremble thus at thee!
Haste, haste, the times to tremble thus at thee!
Oh! as in Norman William's humbling day,
At eve, shall solemn curfews sound the knell;
And men, like babes, be forc'd to bed away,
Soon as they hear the monitory bell?
At eve, shall solemn curfews sound the knell;
And men, like babes, be forc'd to bed away,
Soon as they hear the monitory bell?
When Majesty to Parliament shall ride,
Ah! may the monarch by the mob be eye'd?
And, if allow'd the blessing of a view,
Whether with half an eye, one eye, or two?
Ah! may the monarch by the mob be eye'd?
And, if allow'd the blessing of a view,
Whether with half an eye, one eye, or two?
And will it not be deem'd a daring thing
To ogle through a spying-glass the king?
And will not Reeve's scouts to Justice run,
And swear the spying-glass a monstrous gun?
To ogle through a spying-glass the king?
And will not Reeve's scouts to Justice run,
And swear the spying-glass a monstrous gun?
By the sage counsel, possibly alone,
Like Dame Godiva, George may travel on,
When, lo, of curiosity a head,
A peeping Tom, may from a window poke;
Then let the bullet or the sabre's stroke
Dismiss the saucy peeper to the dead.
Like Dame Godiva, George may travel on,
When, lo, of curiosity a head,
A peeping Tom, may from a window poke;
Then let the bullet or the sabre's stroke
Dismiss the saucy peeper to the dead.
And, since his majesty is fond of hunting,
Ah, let his company no more be bunting!
A sweep may bear a very dangerous brush;
Butchers may pull a cleaver from the frock;
Barbers may launch at majesty a block,
Or bason dart, or pike-like pole may push;
Ah, let his company no more be bunting!
A sweep may bear a very dangerous brush;
Butchers may pull a cleaver from the frock;
Barbers may launch at majesty a block,
Or bason dart, or pike-like pole may push;
Jack Ketch within his pocket hide his string,
And cobblers launch their lap-stones at their king;
Since such too often, by ambition borne,
Join majesty, and whoop, and bound, and horn!
And cobblers launch their lap-stones at their king;
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Join majesty, and whoop, and bound, and horn!
And, when our king to Weymouth shall repair,
Forget not thou an order to the may'r,
When in the tub the royal life embarks,
To read the riot-act to shrimps and sharks!
Forget not thou an order to the may'r,
When in the tub the royal life embarks,
To read the riot-act to shrimps and sharks!
And now may God your hearts, ye Britons, turn!
Your sins in sack-cloth and in ashes mourn:
Without a sigh, to ministers submit—
Ye are but children yet, so mend your ways;
Sing to the lord (th' Exchequer's lord!) with praise;
And go to school, good boys, to Goody Pitt.
Your sins in sack-cloth and in ashes mourn:
Without a sigh, to ministers submit—
Ye are but children yet, so mend your ways;
Sing to the lord (th' Exchequer's lord!) with praise;
And go to school, good boys, to Goody Pitt.
But hark! a voice!—‘Ah, Pitt! thine arts are vain;
Britons dare speak, and, when oppress'd, complain;
To man the little privilege is giv'n:
And, should a miscreant curb it (dead to shame),
May Albion's genius tear the villain's frame,
And fling it piece-meal to the fowls of Heav'n!’
Britons dare speak, and, when oppress'd, complain;
To man the little privilege is giv'n:
And, should a miscreant curb it (dead to shame),
May Albion's genius tear the villain's frame,
And fling it piece-meal to the fowls of Heav'n!’
Whence is that solemn sound, alas! declare:
The ghost of Alfred bids a rogue beware.
The ghost of Alfred bids a rogue beware.
Mr. George Rose, of the Treasury, is the proprietor of two newspapers, misnomered the True Briton and Sun: the first, pleasantly fabulous; and the last, never emitting a single ray. They are intended, however, as two brazen pillars of our happy constitution, acquainting the world with every motion of majesty. George is really a character, and should be brought a little more forward on the political canvass. To continue the metaphor, this treasury gentleman has been kept too far in the back ground. A history of his life, parentage, and education, would prove a bonne bouche for the public.
| The Works of Peter Pindar [i.e. John Wolcot] | |