Cruel to the peculiarities of others, he was most sensitive himself to criticism, and hungry for praise, as he admits in an appeal to his reviewers:—
I am no cormorant for fame, d’ye see;
I ask not all the laurel, but a sprig!
Then hear me, Guardians of the sacred Tree,
And stick a leaf or two about my wig.
In sonnet, ode, and legendary tale,
Soon will the press my tuneful works display;
Then do not damn ’em, and prevent the sale;
And your petitioner shall ever pray.
It must have been hateful to him to have found at last, in Gifford, the scholar and critic who attacked him in the anti-Jacobin magazine in an article entitled “Nil admirari, etc.,” a foeman whose satire was as strong as his own. Gifford speaks of Peter Pindar as “this disgusting subject, the prolific reviler of his Sovereign and impious blasphemer of his God”; hard words for one to put up with, however clearly he may have deserved them. Though his character is not exemplary, and cleverness must not be allowed to atone for lack of moral sense, we do not wish to paint him of too black a hue, if only for charity’s sake. Gifford’s attack was strong and straight, and it may be doubted if Peter’s reputation ever survived it. There was a common fight between these two in which Peter came off worst. He deserved it, for he was the aggressor. Discredited in the popular estimation, he lingered on for a while, and though from 1811 to 1819 he was suffering from blindness and infirmity, he dictated verses until within a few days of his death.