Henry James Pye

G. L., "Parody of a late Ode. Humbly dedicated to the Laureat" Morning Chronicle (27 June 1795).

Not down the Swinish Coxcomb's back
The Queu descends, with Powder thick;
In Nature's dye, Grey, Red, or Black,
The Shoe-brush Crop is all the kick.
Or now, with heat, that, Sirius-clad,
Drives Men, and Dogs, and Puppies mad,
A cooler cover crowns the knob:—
The Beau his weighty knocker docks,
And rivals Nature's curling locks—
By taking to a Bob!

While crowds, upon this penal day,
PITT of their Guineas gulls,
Fearful they should be made to pay,
For Powdering their skulls;
From the gentle, patient throng,
Who wait to pay the whole day long,
O, Minister of lofty fame,
What grateful thanks thy virtues claim!
Thy noble praise resounds afar;
With joy thy kindness they behold,
To ease them of a load of God,
By thy delight in War.

O, Heav'nly Youth — Preserver of us all!
A Nation's best of Friends! — again is rais'd
The voice that bless'd thee, when, in Newgate's Hall,
Thy strength of Memory the People prais'd!—
Britain with heart-felt joy thy name repeats,
Join'd with the strong applause which Merit always meets;
For say, can a Commercial Nation know
Of Wealth and Happiness a greater flow
Than by a long-protracted War is won,
With such a clever man as thee to carry it on!

Ne'er may the pilf'ring Hours, that steal
Man's Memory with treach'rous flit,
Than a long War a happier blessing deal
To our beloved Mr. PITT!—
Ne'er may the ills of hated Peace be his,
But War sit ever smiling on his phiz!
Strand, June 4.