ENGLISH POETRY 1579-1830: SPENSER AND THE TRADITION
Dr. John Wolcot
Anonymous, "Peter Pindar's Pegasus" St. James's Chronicle (4 February 1794).
Dr. John Wolcot:
1776 ca.: A Lady of Truro
1786 ca.: Edmond Malone
1786: D-s Pallet
1786: R. S.
1786: A Lady
1787: G. B. R.
1787: H. D.
1788: A Loyal Subject
1789: Harriet Falconar
1789: William Hayley
1789: Mrs. Boys
1790: Isaac D'Israeli
1790: Rev. Andrew Macdonald
1792 ca.: George Reid
1794: Thomas James Mathias
1794: A. N.
1796: Robert Burns
1796: William Wordsworth
1796: Alexander Balfour
1799: Mary Robinson
1800: William Gifford
1800: George Reid
1800: Thomas Dermody
1801 ca.: William Jackson
1801: Alexander Thomson
1802: Anne Grant
1806: Rev. Lawrence Hynes Halloran
1806: Samuel Jackson Pratt
1810 ca.: Anonymous
1811: Henry Crabb Robinson
1812: A. K.
1814: Leigh Hunt
1814: Thomas Barnes
1815: William Henry Ireland
1816: X. X.
1818: Thomas Enort Smith
1819: John Taylor Esq.
1820: John Keats
1820 ca.: Anonymous
1824: John Taylor Esq.
1826: Rev. Richard Polwhele
1827: Robert Southey
1830: Richard Warner
1831: Rev. Richard Polwhele
1832: John Taylor Esq.
1848: Benjamin Disraeli
1850: John Britton
1852: William Jerdan
1858: Cyrus Redding
1882: Margaret Oliphant
1882: Epes Sargent
Peter Pindar addressed — compared to Royalty, a chimney-sweep in the dirt very naturally leads to fox-hunting and hedge-rows — which as naturally brings us to cock horses — Bartlemy Fair — The stone King at Charing Cross, and the fleet in Torbay — Spurs, whirlabouts, poetick Incense, and sympathy — P. P.'s courage praised, with eulogies on his wig, and allusions to poney-riding — recommendations to buy a new saddle, and why?
Say, Master Peter, whither wilt thou skip,
With merry flea-like nimbleness of foot;
Why mount the wincing jade — the tumbling Rip,
Like some bold, luckless Majesty of Soot;
Who when on high,
With jet-black dignity,
Rump-placed he strides his grisly-bodied foe,
With many a snort, and many a rearward crack,
The filthy subject on his lordly back,
Deep in a kennel lays the Monarch low.
So fares it too with many a simple wight,
With cap and spurs, and skin of buck bedight,
Perch'd on the gentlest gelding of his stud—
Off go the hounds — away the courser flies—
In vain our jockey strains his skin-cramp'd thighs,
For the first hedge-row lays him in the mud.
Now there's a fair call'd Bartlemy I ween,
Where children oft on cock-horse I have seen;
A very sightly beast, with tail and mane beside—
While like the hardy Monarch's fine stone beast
These unbroke chargers caper not the least;
Firm as the man at Charing-Cross,
These pretty children ride this horse,
And nicely on their bums, like ship at anchor ride.
But push these nags, and drive the jockies round,
Plump whirling headlong, on the frisky ground,
These little puking mortals bite the dust—
Here to fill up the goodliness of rhyme,
Let me usurp P. L. in happy time,
And fondly sympathising sigh — Ah! sad! hard crust!!!
Thus Peter you, daring and bold enough I trow,
With gall-drunk pen, and wig thumb'd threadbare thro',
(Black as thy brows, rough, wiry, thick and strong)
Would take a daily airing on the Muses steed,
And prance, like park-rode poney, all day long.
But stop — thy old worn saddle galls a striking jade,
'Twill serve no longer, Peter — get a new one made;
Or look — she'll fling thee surely man — she will indeed.