The Regent and the King Or, a trip from Hartwell to Dover. A Poem. By Peter Pindar [i.e. John Wolcot] |
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 | The Regent and the King |  |
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THE REGENT AND THE KING.
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State Coaches, White Cockades, I sing,In honour of a gouty King,
Who, with our Regent, hob-a-nob,
Rode thro' the streets to please the mob.
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From Hartwell all the way to Dover,They sped to meet the R---l lover—
(That pretty youth, whose flattering tongue
Strove to cajole Miss T--- L---;
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And, failing there, but still resolv'dIn wedlock's noose to get involv'd;
Who courts a R---l northern dame,
Of lineage long, and longer name.)
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Years twenty-three this king had foundAnd munch'd his meals on English ground.
Content with safety and with peace,
Tho' dieted on bread and cheese.
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And oft, with pious rage, no doubt,He d---d Napoleon and the gout;
Forc'd by the first the world to roam,
And by the last laid up at home.
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For gout in human limbs will revel,Playing with rest the very devil,
And goading with its scorpion stings
Even the sacred joints of kings.
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Years twenty-three this king had sigh'dWith all the pangs of wounded pride;
Hurl'd from the height of greatness down,
To live unnotic'd and unknown.
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But now, in fate's fantastic hour,Recall'd to dignity and power,
All fashion's gnats, a motley crew,
With rapid motion round him flew.
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The King, tho' most unseemly fat,Most gracefully receiv'd each gnat,
Tho' now and then an oath would flow,
As the rude gout assail'd his toe.
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“Dear Monsieur Comte, I am so glad—“Oh! d---n dis gout, it drive me mad!—
“Sweet Monsieur Perigord, I beg,—
“D---n me, take care, you hurt my leg!—
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“A crown! mon Dieu, who could believe it,“God give me manners to receive it!
“A crown!—oh! curse you! mind my foot;
“I'll have you guillotin'd, you brute.
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“This torment makes me quite forgetful,“Testy, low-spirited, and fretful,—
“Bear with my weakness, friends, and know—
“D--- nation! now it racks my toe!”
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Now down to Hartwell, sweating, blowing,Spent with fatigue, with honour glowing;
A grim dragoon, with look of thunder,
Struck all the villagers with wonder.
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For never, while an exile poor,Did soldier come to Bourbon's door;
Nor page, to bid him take his mutton,
And drink with England's matchless g---.
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Our court, forsooth, is too refin'dTo smile where fortune looks unkind;
And far too politic to frown
On him who wears or finds a crown.
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So 'twas with Louis, when forsaken,Just left to cook his eggs and bacon;
No mobs came dangling at his heels,
No royal page disturb'd his meals.
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No centinel, with martial stride,Measur'd his house from side to side;
No guard escorted him about—
His firmest comrade was the gout!
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The tide was turn'd, a fierce hussar,Bedeck'd in all the pride of war,
Now came, his bit his courser munching,
As he would eat it for his luncheon.
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Next came a squadron, arm'd throughout,Pigs, oxen, geese, and sheep, to rout;
Their brows were crown'd; for, far and nigh,
Pigs, geese, and sheep, and oxen, fly.
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State coaches next, a splendid line,Fitted for royal limbs divine;
When those said limbs would, now and then,
Expose themselves to vulgar men.
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Now they were sent, the seats new brush'd—(Or else the velvet deeply blush'd,
That he so lately left to beg,
Should there enthrone his gouty leg.)
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Now they were sent, new brush'd the seats.To drag great Louis thro' the streets;
Yes, truth, a chaise and one—no more,
In humble style, the monarch bore.
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His Christian Majesty's backsideOn crimson now was rais'd to ride;
Tho' yesterday, that sacred part
Had scarce done honour to a cart.
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Behind these carriages so gay,Marching along in grim array,
Appear'd a second martial troop,
A gloomy-solemn visag'd group.
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The poor King star'd, and well he might,Half stunn'd with wonder, joy, and fright;
For strange and unaccustom'd he
To all this pomp of royalty.
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Strong spasms ran thro' every joint,His body too, grown en bon point,
Made it a work of toil and time,
For majesty the steps to climb.
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And many a hearty execrationBurst out against his inclination;
Altho' he strove with all his might
To smother them, and be polite.
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At length the downy seat he greeted,And being comfortably seated,
Cried, in his intervals of pain—
“Now Louis is himself again!”
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Who right and left beside him sat—Who held this foot, and who held that—
The daily editors, dull fellows,
Forgot, or did not choose to tell us.
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Also, how many painful workings,Occurr'd from sudden jolts and jirkings;
How many times the monarch swore,
In his slow progress to Stanmore.
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That these things happen'd, none can doubt,Who ever travell'd with the gout;
And those who always rode without it,
Need not be sceptical about it.
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At Stanmore, Britain's golden c---,Too kind, too affable by half,
Waited with pious condescension,
To pay the monarch due attention.
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Well might the giddy thoughtless throngs,That flock'd around, God bless their tongues!
Break forth in undistinguish'd shout,
Stunning the welkin with wild rout.
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The shoutings ran to Hyde Park gate,Where double crowds, impatient, wait,
Anxious enough, no doubt, to see
The impulse of their extacy.
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Gig, coach, landau, mule, donkey, filly,Block'd all the road thro' Piccadilly;
Blest, but to gain a transient stare,
At France's hope, and Britain's heir.
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And France's hope, and Britain's heir,Were, truth, a most congenial pair;
Two round, tunbellied, thriving rakes,
Like oxen fed on linseed cakes.
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From side to side they look'd and bow'd,And smil'd facetious on the crow'd;—
The crowd, enchanted with their style,
Return'd a shout for every smile.
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Long by the milliners, I wot,Will this fair day be unforgot,
Window and roof, lamp-post and steeple,
Were crested with cockaded people.
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The money then in ribbons spent,And cost of festive merriment,
To celebrate the fall of Nappy,
Had made ten thousand paupers happy.
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At Grillion's the procession stay'd,And now commenc'd a new parade—
“Sir,” cried the P--- “upon my word,
“I fain would speak, could I be heard!
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“I fain, sir, would the subject broach,“Which introduc'd you to my coach;
“Would take you by the hand, and say,
“By G---d, sir, 'tis a happy day!
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“You Majesty I gratulate“Upon this happy turn of fate;
“Now go, and take from me a lesson—
“That France may reckon you a blessing.”
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The king replied—“Your English money“Has done for that usurper, Boney;
“You are von Prince of heaven's creation;
“Your people von dam generous nation!
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“You, sir, of royalty a sample,“Shall teach me, by your bright example,
“How man's affections to subdue—
“Yes, mighty Prince, I'll copy you.”
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What pity that this king, so wise,Had not look'd thro' the nation's eyes,
Then had the monarch pry'd again
Into poor virtue's specimen.
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Then had appall'd the eye of reasonA sight, which to express were treason;
A sheet of royal paper blotted,
A solar orb most foully spotted.
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Pity the monarch had not thereTruth's patent spectacles to wear,
Then from the object had he started,
Which made him now so tender hearted—
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But to proceed.—The P---replied,And with affected feeling, cried,
“Give me your hand, you hearty sinner,
“We'll talk it over after dinner!”
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Meanwhile the mob, resolv'd to cheerAll that they could, or could not hear,
While the twin-stars perform'd their spouting,
Kept up a most invet'rate shouting.
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Such cursing, swearing, shrieking, pressing,So gay and laughably distressing,
Such mounting upon backs to see
The countenance of majesty—
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That they were happy, trebly blest,Who, by mere manual labor, prest
So near, in spite of shoves and blows,
As to discern the Royal nose.
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And happiest he of all his raceWho saw the measure of his face;
And mark'd, at once, his cheeks so florid,
Chin, mouth, and nose, and eyes, and forehead.
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Yet all that witness'd him, so loyal,Swore that his nose was truly Royal,
'Twas great, magnificent, and Roman,
And equall'd by the nose of no man.
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His mouth, illustriously wide,Govern'd his face from side to side,
A sort of intercepting main,
Which cleft the nose and chin in twain.
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Further to say, I had been poz'd,But one who saw the mouth unclos'd,
Declar'd, 'twas Desolation's scene—
The grinders few, and far between.
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But these appear'd to vulgar eyes,To be of most illustrious size,
Like aged trunks, whose batter'd form
Had borne the brunt of many a storm.
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His eyes were very Royal too,Of size immense, and colour blue;
His forehead lofty; but his chin,
Oh! dire disgrace, was monstrous thin.
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Such was describ'd the hearty sinner,Who went to C---n H---e to dinner;
With high distinction greatly blest,
And treated as a Royal guest.
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That he enjoy'd the splendid feast,And drank full bottles five at least,
And felt his greatness multiplied,
May very fairly be implied.
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And rumour, with malicious sneer,Has whisper'd in the poet's ear,
Strange tales of follies then committed,
When wine poor Reason had outwitted.
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These I pass over, since the bardIn mercy finds his best reward;
And seeketh not, with harsh lampoons,
To bastinado courtly loons.
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If satire in his verse be found,'Tis truth alone inflicts the wound,
He woos the tenderest of the Nine,
And blends no poison in his line.
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Where'er he hurts, let those who feelBlame not his motives, but his zeal,
Which ever prompts him to be chiming,
Whene'er he finds good food for rhyming.
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Constrain'd by mercy, I forbear,To tell the gambols practis'd there,
The Bacchanalian frolics play'd,
When dignity aside was laid.
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When, waxing warm with wit and wine,Anxious, like ancient Jove to shine,
Their fierce rebellious passions broke
Thro' weak constraint's enfeebled yoke.
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No, if they frolic'd, let the taleBe never whisper'd to the gale;
The bard will never rudely sing
The wanton wanderings of a King.
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Now beam'd the morn, when road and streetShould taste another splendid treat;
Since, levee sports and feasting over,
The Monarch started off for Dover.
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Fearful the Monarch was, perchance,Lest his new protegées of France,
Might fancy he had quite forgot 'em,
And was, in fact, no friend at bottom.
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And, their allegiance being tender,Slippery, perhaps, might be, and slender;
Therefore all fears to drive away,
He swore to start without delay.
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A R---l Admiral, whose heartAppears his second weakest part,
Exceeded only by his head,
Quite worn away with weight of lead—
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Was order'd to bring round to DoverA fleet, to guard the monarch over;
Lest some poor Yankee privateer
Should intercept his great career.
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Poor C---e, whose soul, all men know,Was never daunted yet by foe,
For ne'er by foe, nor danger, yet,
Was that same courage e'er beset;
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But from his bold and fierce campaigns,When love and wine besieg'd his brains,
His spirit would not stand aloof,
But always bear the test of proof.
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Tho' never yet in battle wounded,Tho' never yet by fear confounded;
'Twere sland'rous inference to draw,
That in his courage was a flaw.
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Set him before a girl or glass,And neither this nor that should pass;—
Who then, with sland'rous tongue, unmeet,
Shall sting the Admiral of the Fleet.
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What tho', while foes were on the seas,He chose to stay at home at ease;
'Twas only diffidence, 'tis known,
That kept his Royal courage down.
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He ofttimes would have sallied forth,And scour'd the main from south to north—
Have driv'n each hostile fleet to port,
Rode tempests thro', and call'd it sport;—
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Had he pursu'd the course he lov'd,He had a second Nelson prov'd,
But modesty, that foe to merit,
Always rein'd in his lofty spirit.
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Some twice or thrice that first of formsHad he expos'd to ocean's storms,
Some twice or thrice had deign'd to brave
The perils of the wind and wave.
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And, perhaps, a little fear might rise,When black'ning storms obscur'd the skies,
Lest the portentous gloomy evil
Should hurl his highness to the devil.
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But mightiest heroes, now and then,Might feel a spasm, like common men;
Yet, spite of such brief perturbation,
Their courage bear no imputation.
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Now flutt'ring broad, 'twixt earth and sky,The r---l admiral's flag wav'd high,
Cast its bright shadow o'er the seas,
And hail'd, with virgin kiss, the breeze.
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Had dazzling O---h been there,To mark her lover's alter'd air,
How had she listen'd to his lay,
Won by his streamer, blythe and gay!
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Jack chew'd his quid, and roll'd his eyes,Bursting with anger and surprise;
And mutter'd, tho' he dared not vent
To public ears his discontent:
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“Zounds! what new kickshaw governs now,“A gilt ball on an oaken bough,
“A fluttering, flaunting, May-day piece,
“A lump of gaudiness and grease.
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“What could the lubber do, if Boreas“Chose to kick up his tricks uproarious;
“And how the de'il would he behave,
“While o'er the deck wave drove on wave.
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“Why d---n me, I suppose to bed,“He'd run to hide his coward head,
“Or sneak behind a cask of prog;
“Or drown his terrors in the grog.”
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Scarce to himself had Jack thus spoken,Before his reverie was broken.
All hands on deck the boatswain call'd,
And thus to ev'ry sailor bawl'd;—
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“The Admiral orders ev'ry man“A guinea, and a double can.”—
“D---n me,” says Jack, and wipes his brow,
“I did not know his worth till now.”
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While yet the flaming can went round,Loud peal'd the cannon's thund'ring sound:
From clift to clift the echo flew,
And loud huzza'd the happy crew.
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From right to left the crowded beach,Far as the keenest eye could reach,
Was throng'd with splendid equipages,
Kings, nobles, troops, footmen, and pages.—
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The R---t, with resistless charm,Offer'd the king his graceful arm,
To aid, lest accident or prank
Should overturn the tilting plank.
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Grateful for such high condescension,The king conceal'd his apprehension,
Yet sigh'd in secret as he stood,
And gaz'd upon th' expanding flood.
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At length, with ceaseless toil and pain,The king was launch'd upon the main;
A favoring gale, propitious to him,
Came on its windy wings to woo him.
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The monarch's toe, from change of living,Signs of amendment had been giving;
But the keen breeze brought back the pain,
And d---d him with the gout again.
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As from his window, half-seas over,The king survey'd the cliffs of Dover,
A lingering tear stood in his eye,
His bosom heav'd a long-drawn sigh—
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“Seat of my exile, fare thee well!“Adieu, the forest and the dell,
“Where I have oft my woes beguil'd,
“When memory long'd to wanton wild!
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“Dear, sacred scenes, adieu! adieu!“Dim distance shuts you from my view!
“But while my brain its pow'rs shall wear,
“Memory shall paint your landscapes there!”
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Still on the shore, the R---t stood,And brooded or appear'd to brood;
None ventur'd near, not even Mac,
To ask if if he would travel back.
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At last a saucy billow sprung,Close to his feet, and loos'd his tongue;
He wip'd his sleeve, and curs'd the spray,
Then to his carriage bounc'd away.
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“Well, Mac,” his R---l H---ss rav'd,“Come tell me, how have I behav'd?”
“O Sir,” said Mac, and scratch'd his pole,
“Illustriously, upon my soul.”
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“—And who look'd best, the King or me?“Who seem'd to shew most majesty?”
“Lord, Sir,” said ready Mac again,
“I would not wish to make you vain:
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“But did you ever, at the Louvre,“See Michael Angelo's chef d'œuvre,
“So great that kings have linger'd there,
“To study picture, grace, and air?—
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“You have as much that piece outdone,“As planet is eclips'd by sun.”—
“—Your praises, Mac, my worth exceed,—
“You make me blush, you do, indeed!”
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Mac shook his head, as if to say,'Tis true, indeed, believe me, pray;
And then proceeded,—“ No such grace
“I saw in L---s' form and face;
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“The look and figure of a clod,“A common sight, Sir, yes, by G---d;
“He shew'd some decency, 'tis true,
“But could not be compar'd with you.”
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“—Fie, Mac, oh! fie! 'twas no such thing;“Speak reverently about the King;
“Too far, oh, much too far you go,
“Kings should be sacred, Mac, you know.”
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“Yes, Sir,” said Mac, “a British King,“Is, faith, a very sacred thing;
“But foreign kings, beyond dispute,
“Have fallen greatly in repute.
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“But you, how great the satisfaction,“Lov'd by your people to distraction!
“Add daily honour to your throne,
“Admir'd the more, the more you're known.”
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—“Yes, Mac, indeed,” the P---e replied,“I think I am the people's pride;
“Why, lord, their shoutings seem'd to shake
“The ground, and make the welkin quake.
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“Why when abroad I us'd to wander,“Each knave set at me like a gander;
“With daily hisses us'd to greet,
“And harass me from street to street.
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“Now cheerfulness and joy prevail;“The giddy mob my presence hail;
“With loud unanimous huzzas,
“And surfeit me with their applause.”—
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“Lord, sir,” says Mac—“John Bull you know,“You'll always manage by a shew:
“Strike out a scheme to make him smile,
“And you may tax his purse the while.
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“Fret not, my P---e, but let him shout,“'Tis but a momentary rout;
“Let the mad fury have its reign,
“And, bye and bye, he'll hiss again.
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“But if to you it causes bliss,“To hear the senseless gander hiss,
“I think I could hit out a plan
“To make a goose of every man.”—
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“How!” cried the P---e, while from his eyes“Shot mingled anger and surprise—
“Dear sir,” said Mac, “should my plan please ye,
“Nothing on earth can be more easy.
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“Your daughter, sir; send her away“To Amsterdam without delay;
“Believe me, you need do no more,
“To cause a general uproar—
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“For when your royal maid is sent,“They'll hiss you to your heart's content.”
—“Humph!” said the P---e; and Mac, dismay'd,
Sigh'd, and repented what he said.
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A mode, peculiarly their own,Have the possessors of a throne,
Of shewing, without speech or sign,
Which way their mighty minds incline.
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This mode of giving form to thought,The R---t into action brought;
And Mac, in his own fears, half undone,
No doubt, then wish'd himself at London.
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He strove with many a labour'd sally,His master's complaisance to rally;
But were his humour ne'er so dry,
“Humph!” was the P---e's sole reply.
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The puzzled Sec then scratch'd his sconce,To gain some different response;
He tried remark, but all in vain,
'Twas but a nod, and “humph!” again.
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A buxom dame they overtook,Stepping across a purling brook;
Her clothes rais'd up, her naked knee
Met the keen eye of royalty.
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“Zounds, Mac!” cried he, no longer dumb,Mac quizz'd the joke, and bit his thumb,
The P---e turn'd round, and slily winking—
“She's fat, and fifty to my thinking!”
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“Plump as a partridge,” cried the Sec—The saucy breeze uncloth'd her neck.
“A ride,” said he, “would much delight her!”
—“Then,” cried the P---e, “pray, Mac, invite her!”
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Mac well his master's meaning knew,And rightly understood his cue,
The carriage stopp'd, out bundled Mac,
And quickly brought the damsel back.
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With hat in hand, he help'd her in,Who little dreamt of snare or sin;
Then, in his service orthodox,
Most humbly jump'd upon the box.
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129
But with what pass'd, as none was there,Except the R---t and the fair,
Will meddle not the wary poet;
Fancy may sketch, but will not show it.
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We well may guess the fact, indeed,There is no doubt they well agreed;
For after travelling some eight miles,
The happy pair were clad in smiles.
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Yes, some eight miles Mac's tender formWas perch'd aloft, to bear the storm,
'Till, at the outskirts of a town,
The buxom damsel was set down.
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And as the damsel stepp'd out, well pleas'd,Mac's proffer'd hand she kindly squeez'd;
As if to say—“Oh! sir, most sweet,
“I humbly thank you for the treat.”
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And turning to His R---l H---ss,She dropp'd a curtsey, without shyness,
And, simpering, said, with leering look—
“Sir, don't forget the Kentish brook!”
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134
Mac softly bless'd the bonny stranger,That snatch'd him from impending danger;
For now his master's alter'd eye
Beam'd with unusual extacy.
135
The cloudy frown, to Mac so horrid,Which lately dimm'd the royal forehead,
Was follow'd by a mild serene,
Which threw a splendor o'er his mien.
136
Mac ventur'd modestly to saySomething about a pleasant day.
“Yes, Mac,” said he—“fine, very fine—
“The country landscape looks divine.
137
“Faith, Mac, a handsome female that,“Just the right age and nicely fat;
“Not half her charms can I express—
“She quite cuts out the M---ss.”
138
—“Oh, sir! cried Mac—“I'm overjoy'd,“To find you were so well employ'd;
“Thus may dull hours be always kill'd;
“And even thus your hopes fulfill'd.”—
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139
—“Well, Mac, you are a lad of spirit;“I'm not insensible to merit;
“Thou has a heart by friendship led—
“A little hollow in the head.”—
140
Mac humbly bow'd, and to his eyesHis gratitude began to rise;
As folly was a venial evil—
Disloyalty the very devil.
141
Some might have thought this prov'd alone,Mac was to Wisdom little known;
But, valuing Folly far above,
Was always with her hand and glove.
142
Mac view'd the case with courtier eyes,And thought himself, no doubt, full wise,
Since by his prudence of behaviour,
He had retain'd his master's favor.
143
And many a peer he knew full well,For this had d---d his soul to h---ll;
With heav'n disdaining all alliance;
And setting virtue at defiance.—
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144
As Mac was satisfied to bearOf folly's load so large a share,
Some men, perhaps, might argue thence,
He had no cranny left for sense.
145
But give to nine-tenths of the nationThe offer of his situation,
They'd bend their pride to courtly rules,
And enter in the ship of fools.
146
Onward, in merry mood, they roll'd,And Mac, progressively, grew bold;
Crack'd all his jokes with double zest,
And grew superlatively blest.
147
With much complacency of tongue,They chatted as they sped along,
Of Boney's fate, England's advance,
And the apostacy of France.
148
The sketch which mutual fancy drew,Gave pleasure to the royal view;
The P---e, enraptur'd, saw his name
Eterniz'd in the rolls of fame.
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149
While Mac, forgetful of his pain,Grew, like his master, madly vain,
And fancied—the conceit was odd,
Himself purse-bearer to a god.
150
And now long live the noble three,And may they never disagree,
For sure King, Prince, and Sec. so clever,
Are fit to live and reign for ever!
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