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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| GREAT CRY AND LITTLE WOOL;
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 | The Works of Peter Pindar [i.e. John Wolcot] |  |
245
GREAT CRY AND LITTLE WOOL;
OR, THE SQUADS IN AN UPROAR;
OR, THE PROGRESS OF POLITICS,
OR, EPISTLES, POETICAL AND PICTURESQUE.
WRITTEN BY TOBY SCOUT, ESQ. A Member of the Opposition; AND EDITED BY PETER PINDAR, ESQ.
Qui vult decipi, decipiatur.
Had Britain an atom of wit,
And wish'd her lost health to regain;
She would kick out the mountebank P---,
And consult her old doctor again.
And wish'd her lost health to regain;
She would kick out the mountebank P---,
And consult her old doctor again.
Ah! silly John Bull, or John Ass,
Deserving full many a drub;
Thy long ears can with pleasure let pass
Any lie, any Tale of a Tub!
Deserving full many a drub;
Thy long ears can with pleasure let pass
Any lie, any Tale of a Tub!
Surrounded by wolves—a gaunt pack—
With praise and fair promise they treat thee,
And so thick is thy head-piece, poor Jack,
Thou suspect'st not their plan is—to eat thee!
With praise and fair promise they treat thee,
And so thick is thy head-piece, poor Jack,
Thou suspect'st not their plan is—to eat thee!
249
TO N--- S---, ESQ.
EPISTLE I.
Prepare thy two ears, Cousin Nic
;
Lo! our senses are all of employ full;
And our stomachs of poverty sick,
Will speedily sing, ‘O be joyful!’
Lo! our senses are all of employ full;
And our stomachs of poverty sick,
Will speedily sing, ‘O be joyful!’
Hope peeps from a cloud on our squad,
Whose beams have been long in deep mourning:
'Tis a lane, let me tell ye, my lad,
Dev'lish long, that has never a turning.
Whose beams have been long in deep mourning:
'Tis a lane, let me tell ye, my lad,
Dev'lish long, that has never a turning.
But now for this nice bit of news—
Know, our worthy old monarch is dying!
If we mind but our P's and our Q's,
We shall quickly be roasting and frying.
Know, our worthy old monarch is dying!
If we mind but our P's and our Q's,
We shall quickly be roasting and frying.
Yes, Fame will soon publish aloud,
Of good eating and drinking a story;
As the sun of Pall-Mall from his cloud,
Will soon be ascending in glory.
Of good eating and drinking a story;
As the sun of Pall-Mall from his cloud,
Will soon be ascending in glory.
250
Cousin Nicholas, credit the muse,
Who scorns to report a false tale;
That the minister shakes in his shoes—
Harpoon'd is our mighty state-whale!
Who scorns to report a false tale;
That the minister shakes in his shoes—
Harpoon'd is our mighty state-whale!
How he flounders about, and makes fun,
Poor Mister Leviathan Addy!
Lo, his grandeur, so lately a sun,
Is sinking (sad fall!) to a caddy.
Poor Mister Leviathan Addy!
Lo, his grandeur, so lately a sun,
Is sinking (sad fall!) to a caddy.
Yes, poor Addy, is deep in a bog;
A nice pickle, you well may suppose—
Yery like, between sawyers a log,
His sharp-tooth'd good friends, and his foes.
A nice pickle, you well may suppose—
Yery like, between sawyers a log,
His sharp-tooth'd good friends, and his foes.
Yes, the fellow will get a dry shave;
His chops will be held pretty fast;
And, thank God, Cousin Nic, we shall have
The loaves and the fishes at last.
His chops will be held pretty fast;
And, thank God, Cousin Nic, we shall have
The loaves and the fishes at last.
Believe ev'ry sentence I speak:
Sailing orders are issued—and mind,
G---'s anchor is really a-peak,
Sails all set, with an excellent wind!
Sailing orders are issued—and mind,
G---'s anchor is really a-peak,
Sails all set, with an excellent wind!
The Doctors, good servants of Death,
Are call'd in, and prescribing their slop!
When thou wishest to shorten thy breath,
Nic, send for pill, potion, and drop.
Are call'd in, and prescribing their slop!
When thou wishest to shorten thy breath,
Nic, send for pill, potion, and drop.
Yes, the quacks are call'd suddenly in—
Pepys, Heberden, Reynolds, and Millman!
Who would now for his life give a pin?
Four! enough, without fever, to kill man.
Pepys, Heberden, Reynolds, and Millman!
Who would now for his life give a pin?
Four! enough, without fever, to kill man.
‘In a number of counsellors,’ Nic,
‘There is wisdom’—so says the black cloth.
Yet a proverb as good we may pick,
And as old—‘The more cooks the worse broth.’
‘There is wisdom’—so says the black cloth.
Yet a proverb as good we may pick,
And as old—‘The more cooks the worse broth.’
On the call for the knights of the potion,
Some look pleasant, and others full sad:
All London in short is in motion,
And much on th' alert is our squad.
Some look pleasant, and others full sad:
All London in short is in motion,
And much on th' alert is our squad.
251
The tradesman, once proud of the feather
,
Now cast higher glory their eye on—
Soap, herrings, wigs, mousetraps, and leather,
Are all looking out for a lion.
Now cast higher glory their eye on—
Soap, herrings, wigs, mousetraps, and leather,
Are all looking out for a lion.
The tailors cross-legg'd on their boards,
Needle-arm'd, hand-extended, prepar'd
To stab the black cloth with their swords,
The instant the death is declar'd.
Needle-arm'd, hand-extended, prepar'd
To stab the black cloth with their swords,
The instant the death is declar'd.
And likewise the milliners all,
Arm'd with scissars and pins, on the gape;
On the blacks with dire fury to fall,
And cut through deep columns of crape.
Arm'd with scissars and pins, on the gape;
On the blacks with dire fury to fall,
And cut through deep columns of crape.
Such a mob around Buckingham-house,
Like shrimps all together they cling,
That there's scarce room enough for a mouse,
So alarm'd for the life of the king!
Like shrimps all together they cling,
That there's scarce room enough for a mouse,
So alarm'd for the life of the king!
From the mountain, and forest, and fen,
(What a tumult, and bellow, and roar!)
Rush the beasts to peep into his den,
To spy if good Leo's no more.
(What a tumult, and bellow, and roar!)
Rush the beasts to peep into his den,
To spy if good Leo's no more.
T. S.
Nicholas Scout, Esq. of the city of York, a gentleman of Fortune, and a first cousin of Toby Scout, Esq. The letters were written at the commencement of his majesty's late unfortunate indisposition.
252
EPISTLE II.
Thurlow now is the Carleton-house mentor!
You know him, Nic—bony and big,
With a voice like the voice of a Stentor;
His old phiz in a bushel of wig.
You know him, Nic—bony and big,
With a voice like the voice of a Stentor;
His old phiz in a bushel of wig.
All the pages, and footmen, and maids,
As his wisdom march'd solemnly in,
(The impudent varlets and jades!)
Gather'd round him with wonder and grin.
As his wisdom march'd solemnly in,
(The impudent varlets and jades!)
Gather'd round him with wonder and grin.
Cousin Nic, thou hast hawk'd, I'm sure,
And witness'd a large German owl,
Hopping forth with a visage demure,
To attract all the nations of fowl.
And witness'd a large German owl,
Hopping forth with a visage demure,
To attract all the nations of fowl.
At once all the birds of the air,
Grey, and yellow, green, brown, black, and blue,
Flock around him with chatter and stare—
‘Whence d'ye come? who the devil are you?’
Grey, and yellow, green, brown, black, and blue,
Flock around him with chatter and stare—
‘Whence d'ye come? who the devil are you?’
All our laws he will sagely expound,
Give the parson a twig by the ear;
And to add to the graces of sound,
He will teach his new pupil to swear.
Give the parson a twig by the ear;
And to add to the graces of sound,
He will teach his new pupil to swear.
At some of his thoughts you would wonder;
Rudely utter'd, we dare not deny;
He resembles a loud clap of thunder,
That frightens and brightens the sky.
Rudely utter'd, we dare not deny;
He resembles a loud clap of thunder,
That frightens and brightens the sky.
Yet this in his praise I will say,
That whether he's sober or mellow,
Though as blunt as a bear in his way,
True genius admires the old fellow.
That whether he's sober or mellow,
Though as blunt as a bear in his way,
True genius admires the old fellow.
‘So much for old gravity!’ Nic,
Thou exclaimest, ‘Oh! tempora mutantur!’
Or swear'st I'm clapping a trick.—
Cousin Nic, I'll be c*rs'd if I banter.
Thou exclaimest, ‘Oh! tempora mutantur!’
Or swear'st I'm clapping a trick.—
Cousin Nic, I'll be c*rs'd if I banter.
T. S.
253
EPISTLE III.
O friendship, thy sighs I revere!
Sweet balm on the heart that has bled!
O Love, what a treasure thy tear!
A rich pearl on the tomb of the dead.
Sweet balm on the heart that has bled!
O Love, what a treasure thy tear!
A rich pearl on the tomb of the dead.
How d'ye relish this flight? rather rare,
And sublime for the lead of these days!
And now let me talk of a fair,
Sweet object of pity and praise.
And sublime for the lead of these days!
And now let me talk of a fair,
Sweet object of pity and praise.
To Blackheath when the messenger came,
And announc'd the small hopes of a cure,
He expected a smile from the dame,
With a purse for his news, to be sure.
And announc'd the small hopes of a cure,
He expected a smile from the dame,
With a purse for his news, to be sure.
When she put her white hand to her pocket,
He thought some rare gift would appear.
Ah! her handkerchief only!—She took it,
Sweet mourner, to hold a fond tear;
He thought some rare gift would appear.
Ah! her handkerchief only!—She took it,
Sweet mourner, to hold a fond tear;
A tear to which Friendship gave birth,
And Love, of the Passions the queen;
Pure pearl! had it dropp'd to the earth,
In treasure how rich it had been!
And Love, of the Passions the queen;
Pure pearl! had it dropp'd to the earth,
In treasure how rich it had been!
When he said that the little and great,
That kings, like their subjects, must die;
She look'd up with a visage so sweet,
Bade farewell, with so tender a sigh?
That kings, like their subjects, must die;
She look'd up with a visage so sweet,
Bade farewell, with so tender a sigh?
Her fate is uncommonly cruel—
Yet a lustre she casts on her race—
By the lord, Cousin Nic, she's a jewel,
And her heart is as fair as her face.
Yet a lustre she casts on her race—
By the lord, Cousin Nic, she's a jewel,
And her heart is as fair as her face.
But Scandal has always her mud,
At Merit, poor Merit, to throw;
Of ink has for ever a flood,
To blacken a bosom of snow!
At Merit, poor Merit, to throw;
Of ink has for ever a flood,
To blacken a bosom of snow!
254
Sweet stranger! from splendour withdrawn,
On wisdom and charity bent,
To Health, and the breeze of the lawn,
To the cottage of Peace and Content.
On wisdom and charity bent,
To Health, and the breeze of the lawn,
To the cottage of Peace and Content.
Cousin Nic, with the subject I'm fir'd—
Yes! I've really drunk deep of the stream;
Yet a goose must be really inspir'd,
When the Virtues and Loves are the theme.
Yes! I've really drunk deep of the stream;
Yet a goose must be really inspir'd,
When the Virtues and Loves are the theme.
T. S.
255
EPISTLE IV.
I met mother H---n in the Park;
The dam of our great Master C*nn---g;
Forth flying, as brisk as a lark,
With her daughters perspiring and fanning!
The dam of our great Master C*nn---g;
Forth flying, as brisk as a lark,
With her daughters perspiring and fanning!
‘Lord bless me! my dear Mister Scout,
I'm this moment come up in the hoy:
I'm so glad, then, to find ye here out;
Lord! Lord! I'm transparent with joy.
I'm this moment come up in the hoy:
I'm so glad, then, to find ye here out;
Lord! Lord! I'm transparent with joy.
‘Let's sit down upon one of the benches—
Tell one t'other what each of us hears:
But first, sir, these girls are my wenches—
Jolly jades, Mister Scout, for their years.
Tell one t'other what each of us hears:
But first, sir, these girls are my wenches—
Jolly jades, Mister Scout, for their years.
‘I'll sell no more ointments
, not me!
No! that would my consequence level!
Great prefarment I quickly shall see,
So my boxes may roll to the Devil.
No! that would my consequence level!
Great prefarment I quickly shall see,
So my boxes may roll to the Devil.
256
You have heard, Mister Scout, I suppose,
How I got my nice little appointment:
Mister Pitt, sir, whom ev'ry one knows—
I open'd his winkers with ointment!
How I got my nice little appointment:
Mister Pitt, sir, whom ev'ry one knows—
I open'd his winkers with ointment!
‘So raw and so swelled was each eye,
He could not peep out of a hole:
Sir, it is not a bit of a lie,
The man was as blind as a mole!
He could not peep out of a hole:
Sir, it is not a bit of a lie,
The man was as blind as a mole!
‘Sir, administration is weak;
Water-gruel! no more, Mister Scout.
We shall soon hear the minister squeak;
We shall hear him for mercy cry out.
Water-gruel! no more, Mister Scout.
We shall soon hear the minister squeak;
We shall hear him for mercy cry out.
‘You remember, Lord North, the great ox,
How he ran in a frighted condition,
And bellow'd to Portland and Fox,
And so form'd the fine fam'd coalition.
How he ran in a frighted condition,
And bellow'd to Portland and Fox,
And so form'd the fine fam'd coalition.
‘This will happen agen, if we please!
Yes, yes, and the thing shall be done;
And Addington crawl on his knees,
And bellow to Pitt and my son.
Yes, yes, and the thing shall be done;
And Addington crawl on his knees,
And bellow to Pitt and my son.
‘We shall get out the statue at last!
It shall be brought forward—it must—
Yes, yes, we'll make up for the past:
I'll kick up a dev'l of a dust.
It shall be brought forward—it must—
Yes, yes, we'll make up for the past:
I'll kick up a dev'l of a dust.
‘Mister Scout, we can now muster strong—
This day will I go to the grocer's,
And give him a spice of my tongue,
And call them great fat-headed dozers.
This day will I go to the grocer's,
And give him a spice of my tongue,
And call them great fat-headed dozers.
257
‘I'll have Pitt, in nice gingerbread, too,
Finely gilt, with the anchor of Hope;
And thus will expose him to view,
In the baker's and pastry-cook's shop.
Finely gilt, with the anchor of Hope;
And thus will expose him to view,
In the baker's and pastry-cook's shop.
‘There are numbers of methods, no doubt,
By which popularity's made,
And I know them all, Master Scout;
I think I'm no fool in that trade.
By which popularity's made,
And I know them all, Master Scout;
I think I'm no fool in that trade.
‘I would take forth an owl from his hole,
(Now I don't mean a sarcasm on Pitt);
And I'd put the grave bird on a pole,
And the nation should kneel to tee-whit.
(Now I don't mean a sarcasm on Pitt);
And I'd put the grave bird on a pole,
And the nation should kneel to tee-whit.
‘You have heard of his marriage, I guess—
Nice match! oh, a very nice match!
Half a million of money! not less!
O Lord! 'twas a beautiful catch!
Nice match! oh, a very nice match!
Half a million of money! not less!
O Lord! 'twas a beautiful catch!
‘Yet how mortally proud they all be!
Three days, sir, before the grand wedding,
Bundled off were my daughters and me;
Pack'd off in the mail, bed and bedding.
Three days, sir, before the grand wedding,
Bundled off were my daughters and me;
Pack'd off in the mail, bed and bedding.
‘For we wern't of importance enough,
Our court to great people to pay;
And so we were all order'd off,
For fear of disgracing the day!
Our court to great people to pay;
And so we were all order'd off,
For fear of disgracing the day!
‘But the pride of the Scots was so hurt,
When they found we sold bobbin and inkle!
O Lord! 'twas descending to dirt;
It was coupling a whale with a winkle.
When they found we sold bobbin and inkle!
O Lord! 'twas descending to dirt;
It was coupling a whale with a winkle.
‘I dare swear, if I sat by her side,
Her elbow away she would twitch,
For fear of her elegant hide—
I might probably give her the itch!
Her elbow away she would twitch,
For fear of her elegant hide—
I might probably give her the itch!
‘Proud ma'am need not toss up her nose,
Who, perhaps, owes her fortune to jobbin:
A shop is no sin, I suppose.
And Jobbin's no better than bobbin.
Who, perhaps, owes her fortune to jobbin:
A shop is no sin, I suppose.
And Jobbin's no better than bobbin.
258
‘I could whisper a word to a Scot,
That amongst the great munchers of currie ,
That lacks are not easily got,
Not honestly made in a hurry.
That amongst the great munchers of currie ,
That lacks are not easily got,
Not honestly made in a hurry.
‘'Slife! what's all her money to me,
That I'm to be clapp'd on the shelf?
Thank Heav'n, I'm as wholesome as she,
And a Christian as good as herself.
That I'm to be clapp'd on the shelf?
Thank Heav'n, I'm as wholesome as she,
And a Christian as good as herself.
‘What signify riches and titles?
What signifies richness of blood?
Or what ev'n the nicest of victuals,
If a body ben't vartuous and good?
What signifies richness of blood?
Or what ev'n the nicest of victuals,
If a body ben't vartuous and good?
‘Pray had Adam and Eve an estate,
Poor souls, when they dropp'd from the moon?
No! they had not a knife nor a plate,
Not a table, nor dish, nor a spoon.
Poor souls, when they dropp'd from the moon?
No! they had not a knife nor a plate,
Not a table, nor dish, nor a spoon.
‘Does she think I ha'n't larn'd to behave?
Does she think I caan't sit to a table?
That my parents good scholarship gave,
To eat hay with a horse in a stable?
Does she think I caan't sit to a table?
That my parents good scholarship gave,
To eat hay with a horse in a stable?
‘That my meat, like a hound, I should tug;
That, hog-like, my grinders would work?
Does she think I should cough in the mug,
And pick all my teeth with a fork?
That, hog-like, my grinders would work?
Does she think I should cough in the mug,
And pick all my teeth with a fork?
‘Or snuffle and grunt in my broth,
Then whisk out a mouthful of wind;
Lick my plate, for to save the clean cloth,
And drink healths to the fellows behind?
Then whisk out a mouthful of wind;
Lick my plate, for to save the clean cloth,
And drink healths to the fellows behind?
‘Does she think I was born to be dumb?
Of my tongue, that I have not the use?
Made to listen, and stare, and be mum,
And cannot say, ‘Boh!’ to a goose?
Of my tongue, that I have not the use?
Made to listen, and stare, and be mum,
And cannot say, ‘Boh!’ to a goose?
259
‘She thinks I'm a heathen, no doubt,
Some outlandish beast—that I howl!
I waan't born, no, indeed, Mister Scout,
In a wood, to be scar'd by an owl!
Some outlandish beast—that I howl!
I waan't born, no, indeed, Mister Scout,
In a wood, to be scar'd by an owl!
‘Ups and downs we all see, Master Scout—
This world makes a terrible touse;
Here and there, sir—some in, and some out;
Now a man, and next minute a mouse.
This world makes a terrible touse;
Here and there, sir—some in, and some out;
Now a man, and next minute a mouse.
‘Son C*nn---g shall start up a lord!
Great speaker! a wonderful thinker!
A staff for my boy of the sword;
Rank for Richard, and Tommy the tinker.
Great speaker! a wonderful thinker!
A staff for my boy of the sword;
Rank for Richard, and Tommy the tinker.
‘My girls will so blaze on the town,
Their chariots and phaetons sporting;
Billet-douxing with bucks, derry down!
Such a kettle of fish! such a courting!
Their chariots and phaetons sporting;
Billet-douxing with bucks, derry down!
Such a kettle of fish! such a courting!
‘Lord St. Vincent must go—he shall go—
His anchor's a-peak, never doubt it—
For the man for his office, you know,
Is the man who knows nothing about it.
His anchor's a-peak, never doubt it—
For the man for his office, you know,
Is the man who knows nothing about it.
‘Lord! what has he done worth admiring?
No huge mighty matters, depend on't!
A little hard fighting and firing,
And boarding, and so there's an end on't!
No huge mighty matters, depend on't!
A little hard fighting and firing,
And boarding, and so there's an end on't!
‘Well! Heav'ns bless ye! call soon on me, pray,
To settle th' affairs of the nation—
I now can afford to be gay;
And we'll have a nice jollification.’
To settle th' affairs of the nation—
I now can afford to be gay;
And we'll have a nice jollification.’
Thus ended this nightingale's song!
What a bore, Cousin Nic! what a clack!
What a cock-and-bull tale, what a tongue!
Zounds! 'twould distance the fly of a jack!
What a bore, Cousin Nic! what a clack!
What a cock-and-bull tale, what a tongue!
Zounds! 'twould distance the fly of a jack!
It is called Costello's Collirium, which has experienced a most uncommon sale, from the very fortunate circumstance of having opened the eyes of the Heaven-born minister, who, to exhibit to the world a rich specimen of disinterested gratitude, saddled the nation with pensions on Madam H---n, the Miss H---ns, alias C*nn---gs, alias Reddishes; a pension on her husband, Mr. Richard H---n; a place in the West Indies for one Master Reddish, and military promotion in the East for the other; and to crown the whole, a pension for poor Uncle Tommy, the tinker of Somers Town. What a beautiful nest of caterpillars, ordained by the Heaven-born œconomical minister to devour the few remaining leaves of the old oak! THE EDITOR.
General Scott, the father of Mrs. Canning, made an immense fortune in the East Indies, by his profession, and a lucky throw of the dice.
260
EPISTLE VII.
Corinna talks loud in her airs!
‘I will have what I've fix'd my delight on—
A fig for some people! who cares?
Nothing less than the Duchess of Brighton!
‘I will have what I've fix'd my delight on—
A fig for some people! who cares?
Nothing less than the Duchess of Brighton!
‘Ye dames all so pure and so chaste,
Who have blink'd me, I'll handsomely swinge!
Of the cup of Contempt ye shall taste,
Or I ne'er knew the sweets of revenge!
Who have blink'd me, I'll handsomely swinge!
Of the cup of Contempt ye shall taste,
Or I ne'er knew the sweets of revenge!
‘With envy your pride shall be kill'd—
To my circles ye shall not be beckon'd;
With princes my rooms shall be fill'd;
And my name shall be Ninon the Second.
To my circles ye shall not be beckon'd;
With princes my rooms shall be fill'd;
And my name shall be Ninon the Second.
‘I know who dar'd squint at my routs!
I know who ne'er ask'd me to theirs,
Who turn'd up their impudent snouts;
For their honour, Lord! fill'd with such fears!
I know who ne'er ask'd me to theirs,
Who turn'd up their impudent snouts;
For their honour, Lord! fill'd with such fears!
‘I've a catalogue fair of nice dames—
A pretty black list of each chit:
And if Vengeance, dear Vengeance, have flames,
The torch shall be speedily lit!
A pretty black list of each chit:
And if Vengeance, dear Vengeance, have flames,
The torch shall be speedily lit!
‘Too long have I acted the dove:
I will soon play the part of the viper;
I will rant like the mistress of Jove!
I shall dance, and the --- pay the piper.’
I will soon play the part of the viper;
I will rant like the mistress of Jove!
I shall dance, and the --- pay the piper.’
The lady is clever and pleasant;
Much a fav'rite, of yore, with the men;
Nice picking about her—a pheasant!
Now tasteless and tough—an old hen!
Much a fav'rite, of yore, with the men;
Nice picking about her—a pheasant!
Now tasteless and tough—an old hen!
261
Though the Loves are all fled, the young elves,
With the actions of youth she will bore us—
Time always stands still with ourselves!
We think the world grows old before us!
With the actions of youth she will bore us—
Time always stands still with ourselves!
We think the world grows old before us!
Toad-eaters rush in like a tide,
To their int'rest most lovingly steady;
And to tickle the trout of her pride,
She's be-grac'd and be-duchess'd already!
To their int'rest most lovingly steady;
And to tickle the trout of her pride,
She's be-grac'd and be-duchess'd already!
Is she beautiful? so much the better:
By this magic thy business is done;
One half of a word, or a letter,
Is enough—'tis the sine quânon.
By this magic thy business is done;
One half of a word, or a letter,
Is enough—'tis the sine quânon.
O Beauty, how form'd to beguile!
Thy charm will for ever endure;
Lo, the loftiest, seduc'd by thy smile,
Descend, like the hawk, to the lure!
Thy charm will for ever endure;
Lo, the loftiest, seduc'd by thy smile,
Descend, like the hawk, to the lure!
Thy pride, I suppose, may be hurt—
But the world is a dev'lish queer stick.
Dost thou wish for the smiles of a court?
Make love to a petticoat, Nic.
But the world is a dev'lish queer stick.
Dost thou wish for the smiles of a court?
Make love to a petticoat, Nic.
262
EPISTLE VIII.
Cousin Nic, couldst thou see some court faces!
Most rueful indeed! a yard long—
Gone, gone are the smiles and the graces;
Most capital subjects for song!
Most rueful indeed! a yard long—
Gone, gone are the smiles and the graces;
Most capital subjects for song!
I've just met with some of the crew:
Bull-head C*rd---n, dead in the dumps;
Salisb'ry, looking confoundedly blue,
And his countess as blue as poor Numps.
Bull-head C*rd---n, dead in the dumps;
Salisb'ry, looking confoundedly blue,
And his countess as blue as poor Numps.
Maids of honour, all wand'ring about,
Are seen with a sorrowful air—
With their lily-white handkerchiefs out—
Sad flags, cousin Nic, of despair!
Are seen with a sorrowful air—
With their lily-white handkerchiefs out—
Sad flags, cousin Nic, of despair!
Old Liver—you know who I mean—
Old Jenk—of the closet old rats—
Will feel his bones cracking, I ween,
(Heav'n grant it!) by one of our cats!
Old Jenk—of the closet old rats—
Will feel his bones cracking, I ween,
(Heav'n grant it!) by one of our cats!
Smart lads in the council will shine,
Instead of the stupid and tubbish;
Choice spirits, instead of dull swine;
Bright Jewels, instead of old rubbish.
Instead of the stupid and tubbish;
Choice spirits, instead of dull swine;
Bright Jewels, instead of old rubbish.
The bed-chamber lords are in dudgeon;
And cropsick the grooms and the pages,
As if struck on the head with a bludgeon,
Seem to say, ‘Farewell honour and wages!’
And cropsick the grooms and the pages,
As if struck on the head with a bludgeon,
Seem to say, ‘Farewell honour and wages!’
The cooks, in a pitiful stew,
The scullions, half out of their wits—
‘Adieu to the platters! Adieu
To the dripping-pans, sauce-pans, and spits!’
The scullions, half out of their wits—
‘Adieu to the platters! Adieu
To the dripping-pans, sauce-pans, and spits!’
263
Lord Salisb'ry's poor butler and groom,
With other young knights of the mews,
And other young knights of the broom,
For their places all shake in their shoes.
With other young knights of the mews,
And other young knights of the broom,
For their places all shake in their shoes.
As a whisper is current abroad,
When the prince shall arrive at the throne,
Farewell to the farce of an ode;
Thus the ‘Black's occupation is gone.’
When the prince shall arrive at the throne,
Farewell to the farce of an ode;
Thus the ‘Black's occupation is gone.’
Or should this same ode be in vogue,
Musicians will come from that class
Which know the sweet lark from a hog;
Braham's voice from the bray of an ass!
Musicians will come from that class
Which know the sweet lark from a hog;
Braham's voice from the bray of an ass!
Pitt is just like a fox for a hen,
Slily squinting and creeping about,
Snuffing wildly the wind—but what then,
If Dame Partlet refuse to come out?
Slily squinting and creeping about,
Snuffing wildly the wind—but what then,
If Dame Partlet refuse to come out?
How cut down!—from the line to a lugger!—
The grocers observe him at Dover,
And may send him a pound of brown sugar;
But as to the statue, 'tis over.
The grocers observe him at Dover,
And may send him a pound of brown sugar;
But as to the statue, 'tis over.
Ah! Lucifer, son of the morning,
How fall'n! ah! how lost all thy light!
No longer the heavens adorning!—
Poor planet—good night t'ye—good night!
How fall'n! ah! how lost all thy light!
No longer the heavens adorning!—
Poor planet—good night t'ye—good night!
And yet—though the fellow I hate,
I still must acknowledge his merit;
Though his quack'ries and insolent state
I despise, let me honour his spirit.
I still must acknowledge his merit;
Though his quack'ries and insolent state
I despise, let me honour his spirit.
264
Retir'd, from political battle,
To his castle to learn to be wary,
He astonies the fields and the cattle,
With tactics yclep'd mili-tary!
To his castle to learn to be wary,
He astonies the fields and the cattle,
With tactics yclep'd mili-tary!
He has got all the technicals, pat—
Studying Saxe and Vauban, night and day;
And already has kill'd one ram cat,
Three magpies, two owls, and a jay!
Studying Saxe and Vauban, night and day;
And already has kill'd one ram cat,
Three magpies, two owls, and a jay!
Over hedges and ditches and quags,
Huge feats he is seen to perform!
He has torn a poor dunghill to rags,
And taken a bog-house by storm!
Huge feats he is seen to perform!
He has torn a poor dunghill to rags,
And taken a bog-house by storm!
To Pitt, are all weapons alike:—
With his bayonet he stabb'd an old sow;
He pierc'd a large calf with a pike,
And slew with a broad-sword the cow.
With his bayonet he stabb'd an old sow;
He pierc'd a large calf with a pike,
And slew with a broad-sword the cow.
Many rams has he tumbled about,
And crack'd of some yearlings the skull;
Put of oxen a score to the rout,
And leap'd on the back of the bull!
And crack'd of some yearlings the skull;
Put of oxen a score to the rout,
And leap'd on the back of the bull!
For his tutor, he takes Gen'ral Moore,
As great in a battle his skill is;
And thus a fit Chiron, I'm sure,
For instructing his pupil Achilles.
As great in a battle his skill is;
And thus a fit Chiron, I'm sure,
For instructing his pupil Achilles.
Together for glory they run!
If a hedge-hog they meet, he is dead!
If a squirrel—bounce, off goes a gun!
If a mushroom—smack, off goes his head!
If a hedge-hog they meet, he is dead!
If a squirrel—bounce, off goes a gun!
If a mushroom—smack, off goes his head!
Is a stump of a tree in their way?
With a fury heroic they rend it!
Is a mole-hill? in battle array,
In column, they march to defend it!
With a fury heroic they rend it!
Is a mole-hill? in battle array,
In column, they march to defend it!
On counterscarps, curtains, and ravelins,
Mines, sausages, bridges, and ditches;
Pikes, bayonets, and ramrods, and javelins,
Palisadoes, and guns, and their breeches—
Mines, sausages, bridges, and ditches;
Pikes, bayonets, and ramrods, and javelins,
Palisadoes, and guns, and their breeches—
265
They so talk! such a hist'ry of wars!
Ev'n at meal-times untir'd is the tongue;
When, lo! with the voice of a Mars,
They sing of proud triumph the song.
Ev'n at meal-times untir'd is the tongue;
When, lo! with the voice of a Mars,
They sing of proud triumph the song.
INVITATION TO BONAPARTE:
A DUET,
By Mr. Pitt and General Moore.
BONAPARTE, come over:
We will meet thee at Dover;
And the generals our forces commanding
Will salute thy two ears
With three excellent cheers,
And a warm Cornish hug, at thy landing.
We will meet thee at Dover;
And the generals our forces commanding
Will salute thy two ears
With three excellent cheers,
And a warm Cornish hug, at thy landing.
Louis, Jerome, and Jo,
Let us see too, and know,
With thy uncles and aunts—a brave band:
Bring likewise thy cousins,
Of whom thou hast dozens—
And bring the old fox, Talleyrand.
Let us see too, and know,
With thy uncles and aunts—a brave band:
Bring likewise thy cousins,
Of whom thou hast dozens—
And bring the old fox, Talleyrand.
Thou'lt be frighten'd to see
How brisk we shall be,
To bestow ev'ry thing in our pow'r:
Most excellent air;
Nice lodgings to spare;
Ev'n the best to be found in the Tower.
How brisk we shall be,
To bestow ev'ry thing in our pow'r:
Most excellent air;
Nice lodgings to spare;
Ev'n the best to be found in the Tower.
As French manners are thine,
And so very divine!
Thou never wilt fail of delight;
As the monkeys by day
Will chatter away;
And the tigers howl music at night!
And so very divine!
Thou never wilt fail of delight;
As the monkeys by day
Will chatter away;
And the tigers howl music at night!
266
As thou oft did protest,
That a fight is a feast;
And as no man, indeed, can be thinner;
Thou shalt have—not a pullet,
But a dainty hot bullet,
And a pike for thy teeth, after dinner!
That a fight is a feast;
And as no man, indeed, can be thinner;
Thou shalt have—not a pullet,
But a dainty hot bullet,
And a pike for thy teeth, after dinner!
Come the Consul whenever he will—
And he means it, when Neptune is calmer—
Pitt will send him a d*mn'd bitter pill
From his fortress, the castle of Walmer!
And he means it, when Neptune is calmer—
Pitt will send him a d*mn'd bitter pill
From his fortress, the castle of Walmer!
T. S.
Unfortunately for the credit of his majesty's band of music, it is not composed of musicians, but of people of mean occupations, who receive the salaries; and hire, for a trifling sum, performers to fiddle for them.—Lord Salisbury knows all about it.
267
EPISTLE IX.
Last night I dropp'd in on a club;
The great Mister Squibb in the chair—
Who became a grand bear, from a cub—
Important in look as lord may'r:
The great Mister Squibb in the chair—
Who became a grand bear, from a cub—
Important in look as lord may'r:
Or a certain law lord of our days,
A great un-deciding decider;
Very rarely a subject of praise;
But oft of a wicked derider!
A great un-deciding decider;
Very rarely a subject of praise;
But oft of a wicked derider!
Who hems with much wisdom, and ha's—
And seldom concludes in a minute:
And whose wig might as well in a cause
Be employ'd, as the head that is in it!
And seldom concludes in a minute:
And whose wig might as well in a cause
Be employ'd, as the head that is in it!
Thou hast witness'd, full many a time,
The magic that waits upon place—
Where the note of the owl is sublime,
And sheer grease a fine sample of grace!—
The magic that waits upon place—
Where the note of the owl is sublime,
And sheer grease a fine sample of grace!—
From the coal and the smoke of his shop
To the bench let black Mulciber move;
Lo! his tools into consequence hop,
And his sledge is the sceptre of Jove!
To the bench let black Mulciber move;
Lo! his tools into consequence hop,
And his sledge is the sceptre of Jove!
Squibb now with much gravity rose—
A most solemn and sanctified look!
‘Pray inform us all, what you suppose
Is our s*v---gn's complaint, Mister Puke!’
A most solemn and sanctified look!
‘Pray inform us all, what you suppose
Is our s*v---gn's complaint, Mister Puke!’
Puke answer'd—‘Indeed, Mister Squibb,
Of opinions, I'm not a free giver;
But, I think, that a child with a bib
Must pronounce the disease in the liver!
Of opinions, I'm not a free giver;
But, I think, that a child with a bib
Must pronounce the disease in the liver!
268
Now Gripe started up, in his pride,
Whom no death of a patient affrights:
‘Mister Puke, you and I differ wide—
'Tis no more in the liver than lights.’
Whom no death of a patient affrights:
‘Mister Puke, you and I differ wide—
'Tis no more in the liver than lights.’
Puke, nettled, now answer'd and said,
‘Though your wisdom was never suspected;
If I know any thing of my trade,
Mister Gripe, 'tis the liver's affected.’
‘Though your wisdom was never suspected;
If I know any thing of my trade,
Mister Gripe, 'tis the liver's affected.’
Sir, I dont think you do,’ answer'd Gripe,
With a smile, and a squint, and a leer—
Now Puke, in a rage at this wipe,
Thought of dealing a box on the ear!
With a smile, and a squint, and a leer—
Now Puke, in a rage at this wipe,
Thought of dealing a box on the ear!
But sagely suspecting return,
And possessing some love for his hide,
He was forc'd in his bowels to burn,
And submit, to Dame Prudence, Miss Pride.
And possessing some love for his hide,
He was forc'd in his bowels to burn,
And submit, to Dame Prudence, Miss Pride.
How few boast the wisdom of Puke—
A present, not ev'ry man's lot!—
How easier to bear a rebuke,
Than a sword in the heart or a shot!
A present, not ev'ry man's lot!—
How easier to bear a rebuke,
Than a sword in the heart or a shot!
Honour likes to shoot, stab, and slice,
When affronted—wild, panting for blood!
Very strange, that a lady so nice
Should prefer such indelicate food!
When affronted—wild, panting for blood!
Very strange, that a lady so nice
Should prefer such indelicate food!
‘Well,’ quoth Puke, ‘thou shalt have thy own way,
Master Gripe, or to prate or to kill;—
Allow me the freedom to say—
Thou art vox et præterea nil!’
Master Gripe, or to prate or to kill;—
Allow me the freedom to say—
Thou art vox et præterea nil!’
‘Well,’ quoth Gripe, ‘what hast thou been a saying?
Master Puke, that redounds to thy glory?
Goose gabbling—a jack-ass's braying!—
To talk Latin—mere nugæ canoræ!’
Master Puke, that redounds to thy glory?
Goose gabbling—a jack-ass's braying!—
To talk Latin—mere nugæ canoræ!’
To high words now the disputants rose,
Indeed, words not in flattery rich—
Gripe talk'd loudly of pulling a nose;
Master Puke talk'd of kicking a breech!
Indeed, words not in flattery rich—
Gripe talk'd loudly of pulling a nose;
Master Puke talk'd of kicking a breech!
269
‘Thy physic,’ quoth Gripe, ‘is all slop!
Not fig for a pig, or a porter:
Could I catch thee but once in my shop,
I would pound thee to dust in my mortar.’—
Not fig for a pig, or a porter:
Could I catch thee but once in my shop,
I would pound thee to dust in my mortar.’—
‘With such fellows,’ quoth Puke, in disdain,
‘I scorn, like a blackguard to wrestle;
Yet, Gripe, had thy head any brain,
I would dash it all out with my pestle!’
‘I scorn, like a blackguard to wrestle;
Yet, Gripe, had thy head any brain,
I would dash it all out with my pestle!’
The company now interfer'd,
To set those hot matters to rights—
They drank friends—and no longer was heard—
The dispute between liver and lights.—
To set those hot matters to rights—
They drank friends—and no longer was heard—
The dispute between liver and lights.—
And, as now, cousin Nic, I beg leave
(As labour and I don't agree)
To my pen a small respite to give—
And indulge in a pinch of rappee.
(As labour and I don't agree)
To my pen a small respite to give—
And indulge in a pinch of rappee.
Peace now being happily made,
Up rose, on his legs, Master Sly:
And thus to the chairman he said—
Whilst ‘Hear him! hear! hear! was the cry.
Up rose, on his legs, Master Sly:
And thus to the chairman he said—
Whilst ‘Hear him! hear! hear! was the cry.
‘Sir! administration is weak!
Very feeble—exceedingly, sir—
It has not a man that can speak—
Not a tongue on a topic to stir!
Very feeble—exceedingly, sir—
It has not a man that can speak—
Not a tongue on a topic to stir!
‘The premier, I grant very good—
Fit to join with his wife in debate;
Prescribe a child's physic and food—
But he should not prescribe for a state.
Fit to join with his wife in debate;
Prescribe a child's physic and food—
But he should not prescribe for a state.
‘His judgment on mutton and beef,
I allow him without hesitation—
And of tea, too, it is my belief,
There is no sounder judge in the nation
I allow him without hesitation—
And of tea, too, it is my belief,
There is no sounder judge in the nation
270
‘In a boarding-school, too, he might shine,
And make a most excellent teacher;
Nay more—make a decent divine,
And, per-haps—prove a popular preacher!
And make a most excellent teacher;
Nay more—make a decent divine,
And, per-haps—prove a popular preacher!
‘But we want, sir, a man of deep thought,
Of political, sharp, penetrations—
In the school of experience, sir, taught;
Well vers'd in the int'rests of nations:
Of political, sharp, penetrations—
In the school of experience, sir, taught;
Well vers'd in the int'rests of nations:
‘The man from intrigue who refrains;
Scorns to creep, spaniel-like, to disgrace;
Who, firm in his virtue, disdains
To enrich an old cat, for his place.
Scorns to creep, spaniel-like, to disgrace;
Who, firm in his virtue, disdains
To enrich an old cat, for his place.
‘The man who would die for the state—
Of freedom, the glorious defender;
Not a fellow of infinite prate—
Not a noisy and bullying pretender.
Of freedom, the glorious defender;
Not a fellow of infinite prate—
Not a noisy and bullying pretender.
‘Not the man who encourages spies;
For poor liberty laying the snare;
Affected no more by her cries,
Than a poacher, by squeaks of a hare.
For poor liberty laying the snare;
Affected no more by her cries,
Than a poacher, by squeaks of a hare.
‘Not a childish, vindictive, poor fool,
Against men who may smile at his name,
Who fancies the praise of each tool
Nothing less than the plaudit of Fame.
Against men who may smile at his name,
Who fancies the praise of each tool
Nothing less than the plaudit of Fame.
‘'Tis the man who, sublime, for the state
His neck to the axe would submit,
To bless it—to snatch it from fate;
And that man!—is the great William Pitt!
His neck to the axe would submit,
To bless it—to snatch it from fate;
And that man!—is the great William Pitt!
‘Great man! who ev'n kings would resist,
And pawn for the realm his last shirt;
Too virtuous to make civil list
The fount of corruption and dirt!—
And pawn for the realm his last shirt;
Too virtuous to make civil list
The fount of corruption and dirt!—
‘Great man! so sublime in his station!
The pilot who weather'd the storm!
Good man! who ne'er promis'd the nation
A thing which he did not perform!—
The pilot who weather'd the storm!
Good man! who ne'er promis'd the nation
A thing which he did not perform!—
271
‘How nobly from office he went!
Great man!—not a doit in his fob!
Great man, with his conscience content,
Retiring as poor as poor Job!—
Great man!—not a doit in his fob!
Great man, with his conscience content,
Retiring as poor as poor Job!—
‘He wish'd not to burthen the nation—
He wish'd not for mountains of pelf!
He wish'd for his country's salvation—
He never once thought of himself!
He wish'd not for mountains of pelf!
He wish'd for his country's salvation—
He never once thought of himself!
‘Other barks on the ocean of time
Shall be lost! into atoms shall split!
While, tow'ring in triumph sublime,
Through the foam, moves the great William Pitt!
Shall be lost! into atoms shall split!
While, tow'ring in triumph sublime,
Through the foam, moves the great William Pitt!
‘Of sweet woman he courts not the smile—
Of Venus, ne'er seen in the school—
An animal, rare in our isle—
Heav'n grant that he mayn't be a mule!’
Of Venus, ne'er seen in the school—
An animal, rare in our isle—
Heav'n grant that he mayn't be a mule!’
Having finish'd his splendid oration,
Down solemnly sat Master Sly;
When lo! of a diff'rent persuasion,
Up rose, in much form, Dicky Dry:—
Down solemnly sat Master Sly;
When lo! of a diff'rent persuasion,
Up rose, in much form, Dicky Dry:—
‘Mister Chairman, the very neat speech
Just deliver'd by good Mister Sly,
Demonstrates how well he can preach—
His assumptions, I beg to deny.
Just deliver'd by good Mister Sly,
Demonstrates how well he can preach—
His assumptions, I beg to deny.
‘Sir, 'tis no very difficult matter
To be florid, and roundly assert—
With irony, names to bespatter;
And characters cover with dirt.
To be florid, and roundly assert—
With irony, names to bespatter;
And characters cover with dirt.
‘I allow his oration is neat—
Full of point, sir, I freely admit;
But, sir, the distinction is great,
Very great, between wisdom and wit!
Full of point, sir, I freely admit;
But, sir, the distinction is great,
Very great, between wisdom and wit!
272
‘Mister Sly must be surely in sport,
So ill is the character suited;
Mister Sly may have found out his port—
Not the talents and virtues imputed.
So ill is the character suited;
Mister Sly may have found out his port—
Not the talents and virtues imputed.
‘Survey him in Westminster-Hall—
Poor youth! not a brief in his bag!
There he look'd very small—very small!
Not a client to make his tongue wag!
Poor youth! not a brief in his bag!
There he look'd very small—very small!
Not a client to make his tongue wag!
‘Next behold him in league with a duke,
Busy then as the Devil in a storm,
Attempting poor gudgeons to hook
With a bait—a fine bait, call'd reform!
Busy then as the Devil in a storm,
Attempting poor gudgeons to hook
With a bait—a fine bait, call'd reform!
‘Pretty doctrines they scatter'd around!
Pretty letters to Sharman they wrote!
Sir, I quickly should visit Lob's pound,
Should I dare ev'n a passage to quote!
Pretty letters to Sharman they wrote!
Sir, I quickly should visit Lob's pound,
Should I dare ev'n a passage to quote!
‘Master Aris and I, very soon,
Should be trying of handcuffs a pair;
When his honour would teach me a tune—
Bread and water—a fav'rite old air.
Should be trying of handcuffs a pair;
When his honour would teach me a tune—
Bread and water—a fav'rite old air.
‘Well! at length Master Billy got in—
Arriv'd at the summit of power;
What's reform?—Oh! a d---nable sin—
A dæmon, from that very hour.
Arriv'd at the summit of power;
What's reform?—Oh! a d---nable sin—
A dæmon, from that very hour.
‘Now terrier, cur, spaniel, and hound
(No matter, rain, sun-shine, or storm),
Were to hunt, and, whenever they found,
To strangle that vermin reform!
(No matter, rain, sun-shine, or storm),
Were to hunt, and, whenever they found,
To strangle that vermin reform!
‘Now trace him in administration:
Take a peep at his pretty vagaries—
His rare engines for calming the nation—
Messieurs Reeves and mild Governor Aris!
Take a peep at his pretty vagaries—
His rare engines for calming the nation—
Messieurs Reeves and mild Governor Aris!
‘Of kindness so full, the sweet saint;
So ready some comfort to give us;
When we open'd our mouths with complaint,
His gaols open'd theirs to receive us!
So ready some comfort to give us;
When we open'd our mouths with complaint,
His gaols open'd theirs to receive us!
273
‘Next at Newgate behold the great man!
Sad scene of sad-ir-recollection—
Where tongues with much liberty ran,
And dealt in most saucy reflection.
Sad scene of sad-ir-recollection—
Where tongues with much liberty ran,
And dealt in most saucy reflection.
‘What a pity that mem'ry should fail—
Great pity, indeed!—I repeat it,
That a yesterday's action or tale,
To day, one should cleanly forget it!—
Great pity, indeed!—I repeat it,
That a yesterday's action or tale,
To day, one should cleanly forget it!—
‘What a day of dire mortification!
What a day of proud triumph for foes!
How nimbly the gem reputation
Was going, that day, to the crows!
What a day of proud triumph for foes!
How nimbly the gem reputation
Was going, that day, to the crows!
‘Mister Sly says his hero was poor,
Which a deal to his glory redounds—
If the huntsman was lean, we are sure
The lean Nimrod well fatten'd his hounds!
Which a deal to his glory redounds—
If the huntsman was lean, we are sure
The lean Nimrod well fatten'd his hounds!
‘Mister Sly says his hero, so pure,
Never courted the smiles of the ladies—
Sweet Joseph! not woman allure!—
What a comical sort of a blade 'tis!
Never courted the smiles of the ladies—
Sweet Joseph! not woman allure!—
What a comical sort of a blade 'tis!
‘That Pitt from the ladies should fly,
Is rather an odd sort of whim;
But I never should wonder, not I,
If the women all scamper'd from him!
Is rather an odd sort of whim;
But I never should wonder, not I,
If the women all scamper'd from him!
‘From his credit, I scorn'd to detract,
For candour I always revere—
And if Fame ever mention'd one act;
'Twas in whispers no mortal could hear!
For candour I always revere—
And if Fame ever mention'd one act;
'Twas in whispers no mortal could hear!
‘Civil list, sir, 's a dangerous affair:
On this head he had better been mum;
Wisdom looks on that list with a stare!—
But no more on that subject, sir—hum!
On this head he had better been mum;
Wisdom looks on that list with a stare!—
But no more on that subject, sir—hum!
‘Great man!’ said the great Mister Drake—
Whose virtues and talents surprise!
Not of wretched mortality's make;
But sent us, express from the skies!—
Whose virtues and talents surprise!
Not of wretched mortality's make;
But sent us, express from the skies!—
274
‘If P--- was sent down from on high,
The world, in opinion, must join;
And pronounce, with one voice, that the sky,
Like Houndsditch, pass'd counterfeit coin!’
The world, in opinion, must join;
And pronounce, with one voice, that the sky,
Like Houndsditch, pass'd counterfeit coin!’
T. S.
| The Works of Peter Pindar [i.e. John Wolcot] | |