“An’t please your Majesty, you did I’m sure.”
“Yes,” answered Majesty, with quick reply,
“I did, I did, I did, I, I, I, I.”
Peter Pindar scoffed at the parsimony of George III. He scoffed at his personal appearance, his simple tastes, his attempt to enforce respect for the Sunday, his admiration for the music of Handel, above all his patronage of Benjamin West.
E’en with his painter let the King be blest;
Egad! eat, drink, and sleep, with Mister West.
Let the Court, the fashionables, the vulgar populace admire West and purchase his wretched pictures, Peter will have none of him or of them. Then he tells an amusing tale of a Toper and the Flies. A group of topers sat about the table drinking punch. Flies joined the party, sipped the grog, fell by hundreds into the bowl.
Wanting to drink—one of the men
Dipp’d from the bowl the drunken host,