Sic transit gloria mundi!—Old Sun Dials.
From House of Buckingham, in grand parade,
To Whitbread's Brewhouse, moved the cavalcade.
THE ARGUMENT.—Peter's loyalty.—He suspecteth Mr. Warton [Footnote: The Poet Laureate.] of joking.—Complimenteth the poet Laureate.— Peter differeth in opinion from Mr. Warton.—Taketh up the cudgels for King Edward, King Harry V., and Queen Bess.—Feats on Blackheath and Wimbledon performed by our most gracious sovereign.—King Charles the Second half damned by Peter, yet praised for keeping company with gentlemen.—Peter praiseth himself.—Peter reproved by Mr. Warton.—Desireth Mr. Warton's prayers.—A fine simile.—Peter still suspecteth the Laureate of ironical dealings.—Peter expostulateth with Mr. Warton.—Mr. Warton replieth.—Peter administereth bold advice.—Wittily calleth death and physicians poachers.—Praiseth the king for parental tenderness.—Peter maketh a natural simile.—Peter furthermore telleth Thomas Warton what to say.—Peter giveth a beautiful example of ode-writing.
THE CONTENTS OF THE ODE.—His Majesty's [Footnote: George III.] love for the arts and sciences, even in quadrupeds.—His resolution to know the history of brewing beer.—Billy Ramus sent ambassador to Chiswell street.—Interview between Messrs. Ramus and Whitbread.—Mr. Whitbread's bow, and compliments to Majesty.—Mr. Ramus's return from his embassy.—Mr. Whitbread's terrors described to Majesty by Mr. Ramus.—The King's pleasure thereat.—Description of people of worship.—Account of the Whitbread preparation.—The royal cavalcade to Chiswell-street.—The arrival at the brewhouse.—Great joy of Mr. Whitbread.—His Majesty's nod, the Queen's dip, and a number of questions.—A West India simile.—The marvelings of the draymen described.—His Majesty peepeth into a pump.—Beautifully compared to a magpie peeping into a marrow-bone.—The MINUTE curiosity of the King.—Mr. Whitbread endeavoreth to surprise Majesty.—His Majesty puzzleth Mr. Whitbread.—Mr. Whitbread's horse espresseth wonder.—Also Mr. Whitbread's dog.—His Majesty maketh laudable inquiry about Porter.—Again puzzleth Mr. Whitbread.—King noteth NOTABLE things.—Profound questions proposed by Majesty.—As profoundly answered by Mr. Whitbread.—Majesty in a mistake.—Corrected by the brewer.—A nose simile.—Majesty's admiration of the bell.—Good manners of the bell.—Fine appearance of Mr. Whitbread's pigs.—Majesty proposeth questions, but benevolently waiteth not for answers.—Peter telleth the duty of Kings.— Discovereth one of his shrewd maxims.—Sublime sympathy of a water- spout and a king.—The great use of asking questions.—The habitation of truth.—The collation.—The wonders performed by the Royal Visitors.—Majesty proposeth to take leave.—Offereth knighthood to Whitbread.—Mr. Whitbread's objections.—The king runneth a rig on his host.—Mr. Whitbread thanketh Majesty.—Miss Whitbread curtsieth.—The queen dippeth.—The Cavalcade departeth.
Peter triumpheth.—Admonisheth the Laureate.—Peter croweth over the Laureate.—Discovereth deep knowledge of kings, and surgeons, and men who have lost their legs.—Peter reasoneth.—Vaunteth.—Even insulteth the Laureate.—Peter proclaimeth his peaceable disposition.—Praiseth Majesty, and concludeth with a prayer for curious kings.
Tom, soon as e'er thou strik'st thy golden lyre,
Thy brother Peter's muse is all on fire,
To sing of kings and queens, and such rare folk
Yet, 'midst thy heap of compliments so fine,
Say, may we venture to believe a line?
You Oxford wits most dearly love a joke.
Son of the Nine, thou writest well on naught;
Thy thundering stanza, and its pompous thought,
I think, must put a dog into a laugh:
Edward and Harry were much braver men
Than this new-christened hero of thy pen.
Yes, laurelled Odeman, braver far by half;
Though on Blackheath and Wimbledon's wide plain,
George keeps his hat off in a shower of rain;
Sees swords and bayonets without a dread,
Nor at a volley winks, nor ducks his head:
Although at grand reviews he seems so blest,
And leaves at six o'clock his downy nest,
Dead to the charms of blanket, wife, and bolster;
Unlike his officers, who, fond of cramming,
And at reviews afraid of thirst and famine,
With bread and cheese and brandy fill their holsters.
Sure, Tom, we should do justice to Queen Bess:
His present majesty, whom Heaven long bless
With wisdom, wit, and art of choicest quality,
Will never get, I fear, so fine a niche
As that old queen, though often called old b—ch,
In fame's colossal house of immortality.