ODE III

Duncan, with truth it may be said,

Your mouth was made for rye or barley bread;

What claim have you to halls of state,

Whose business is to stand and wait,

Subserviant to command?

What right have you to white-bread, superfine,

Who were by nature destin'd for “a swine” —

As said good Edmund Burke,

The drudge of Britain's dirty work,

Whose mighty pamphlets rous'd the royal band!

When passing by a splendid dome of pride

By speculation built ( and built so vast

That there a standing army might reside )

Say, Duncan, stood you not aghast,

When gazing up ( like fox that look'd for grapes )

You saw so many things in curious shapes,

Trees rang'd along the table,

And sugar-columns, far above the rabble,

With roses blooming in October,

And wisdom's figure — dull and sober.

Ah! how you smack'd your lips, and look'd so wishful

When pigs and poultry — many a lovely dish-full,

Imparted to your nose the savoury scent

For royal noses — not for Duncan's — meant.

For things like these you, caitiff, were not born —

A pewter spoon was for your chops intended;

Some shins of beef, and garlands made of thorn —

On things like these has Freedom's feast depended.

Though in the days of fight you musquet carried,

Or wandered up and down, a cannon-hauling,

Better you might in Jericho have tarried

And rebel-starving made your loyal calling.

Among our far-fam'd chieftains that are dead

( Like beer set by in mug without a lid,

And sure, a half-gill glass I'll put it all in )

I'll toast your health — yes, to the very brim

And to the little gaping world proclaim

You are a Hero fallen:

One of the wights who dar'd all death, or wound,

And warr'd for two and sixpence in the pound.

Of public virtue you're a rare example —

Go, mind your hoe, your pick-ax, or your spade;

A hut of six foot square shall be your “temple,”

And all your honour — strutting on parade.

But pray, beware of public good;

It will not always find you food,

And if your son should anything inherit,

Bequeath him not your public spirit,

But sixpence, to be train'd to sawing wood.