The Prince, who Britain’s throne in time shall grace,
Ne’er finger’d, at a fair, a bullock’s ribs,
Nor even ogled a pig’s face!
O dire disgrace! O let it not be known
That thus a Father hath excell’d a Son.
Peter Pindar spared few. Pitt he hated, because he had not bribed him; Sir Joseph Banks, Boswell—fair game—Hannah More, Bishop Porteus, who had ventured in a sermon to speak highly of Hannah; James Bruce, and many another.
To Lady Mount Edgcumbe he wrote a consolatory stanza on the death of her favourite pig.
O dry that tear, so round and big;
Nor waste in sighs your precious wind!