"Here"—pointing to the shoulder—I should say,
"Here majesty's own hand so sacred lay"—
Then p'rhaps repeat some speech the king might utter;
As—"Peter, how go sheep a score? what? what?
What's cheapest meat to make a bullock fat?
Hae? hae? what, what's the price of country butter?"
Then should I, strutting, give myself an air,
And deem myself adorned with immortality:
Then should I make the children, calf-like stare,
And fancy grandfather a man of quality:
And yet, not stopping here, with cheerful note,
The muse should sing an ode upon the coat.
Poor lost America, high honors missing,
Knows naught of smile, and nod, and sweet hand-kissing,
Knows naught of golden promises of kings;
Knows naught of coronets, and stars, and strings;
In solitude the lovely rebel sighs!
But vainly drops the penitential tear—
Deaf as the adder to the woman's cries,
We suffer not her wail to wound our ear:
For food we bid her hopeless children prowl,
And with the savage of the desert howl.
PRAYING FOR RAIN. PETER PINDAR
How difficult, alas! to please mankind!
One or the other every moment MUTTERS:
This wants an eastern, that a western, wind:
A third, petition for a southern, utters.
Some pray for rain, and some for frost and snow:
How can Heaven suit ALL palates?—I don't know.
Good Lamb, the curate, much approved,
Indeed by all his flock BELOVED,
Was one dry summer begged to pray for rain.
The parson most devoutly prayed—
The powers of prayer were soon displayed;
Immediately a TORRENT drenched the plain.
It chanced that the church warden, Robin Jay,
Had of his meadow not yet SAVED the hay:
Thus was his hay to HEALTH quite past restoring.
It happened too that Robin was from home;
But when he heard the story, in a foam
He sought the parson, like a lion roaring.
"Zounds! Parson Lamb, why, what have you been doing!
A pretty storm, indeed, ye have been brewing!
What! pray for RAIN before I SAVED my hay!
Oh! you re a cruel and ungrateful man!
I that forever help you all I can;
Ask you to dine with me and Mistress Jay,
Whenever we have something on the spit,
Or in the pot a nice and dainty bit;
"Send you a goose, a pair of chicken,
Whose bones you are so fond of picking;
And often too a cag of brandy!
YOU that were welcome to a treat,
To smoke and chat, and drink and eat;
Making my house so very handy!
"YOU, parson, serve one such a scurvy trick!
Zounds! you must have the bowels of Old Nick.
What! bring the flood of Noah from the skies,
With MY fine field of hay before your eyes!
A numskull, that I wer'n't of this aware.—
Curse me but I had stopped your pretty prayer!"
"Dear Mister Jay!" quoth Lamb, "alas! alas!
I never thought upon your field of grass."