The Project Gutenberg's eBook of The History of Johnny Quæ Genus, by William Combe.

  "By a great writer it is said,
And one who seldom was betray'd,
When he employ'd his tongue or pen
On the known characters of men:
(And if, perchance, I'm not mistaken,
I think his famous name was Bacon,)
That in the changeful scenes of life,
Which raise up enmity and strife,
He may 'gainst others hold his head,
Nor the wide world's opinion dread,
If, though he almost stands alone,
An honest heart maintains its own:
But that he is an arrant fool
Who yields to his own ridicule.
Now such a fool, as we have seen,
Quæ Genus, from weak pride, has been:
But, though I wonder at his folly,
I will not make him melancholy.

"Things at the worst, 'tis said, must mend, And I will prove your real friend, If you, hereafter, have the sense To merit my full confidence: And now, I think, you may prepare To take my household to your care. Your pride must not offended be At putting on a livery, As that will be the best disguise To hide you from all prying eyes; Quæ Genus, too, you now must yield, That learned name should be conceal'd; Ezekiel will suspicion smother, As well, I think, as any other, Till I have due enquiry made If Gripe-all be alive or dead, And how far I may recommend The runaway to Doctor Bend. Do what is right—and laugh at fear; The mark you carry in your rear Will never intercept the view Fortune may have in store for you. No more let vanity resent The stroke by which your form is bent! How many in the world's wide range Would willingly their figures change For such as yours, and give their wealth To get your hump and all its health. Look at my legs—my stomach see, And tell me, would you change with me?
Nay, when your healthy form I view, Though all be-hump'd, I'd change with you, And give you half my fortune too.	}
Lament no more your loss of beauty, But give your thoughts to do that duty Which my peculiar wants require, And more you need not to desire. I feel I cannot pay too high For care and for fidelity: Let me see that—my heart engages To give you something more than wages —Your duties will be found to vary, As Steward, Nurse, and Secretary: Thus you will soon my wants attend Less as a servant than a friend. You may suppose I little know Of what is going on below; My leading wishes are, to prove That I am duly serv'd above, And you, as may be daily seen, Must play the active game between."

in the sports of the kitchen

Drawn by Rowlandson

Quæ Genus, in the Sports of the Kitchen.

  More pass'd, that needs not our repeating,
About the mystery of eating,
Which did these sage instructions close,
When good Sir Jeff'ry 'gan to doze:
And, soon as he more soundly slept,
Downstairs Ezekiel cautious crept,
(For by that name he now is known,
As fate has chang'd it for his own,)
To let th' expecting folk below
The nature of his office know.
To ev'ry man he gave his fist,—
The females, too, he warmly kiss'd;
Then to th' assembled kitchen spoke,
But not as if he thought a joke,
Or in a hypocritic glee,
But with a smiling gravity.
"Sir Jeff'ry's household int'rests are
Committed to my faithful care;
And I must hope we all agree
To serve him with fidelity."
To this they all, in order due,
Gave their assent—and bound it too
By words which each one, in their station,
Gave as a solemn declaration.

  The cook and housekeeper began,
And thus her red rag glibly ran;
While, from her knee unto her chin,
She wav'd the floured rolling pin.
"O, may the kettle never boil,
May butter always turn to oil,
And may the jack, the chimney's boast,
From time to time despoil the roast!
May soot fall on the ready stew,
And the cat lick the rich ragout!
May China dish with pie to bake,
While I am speaking, may it crack,
If I e'er took the offer'd bribe
From any of the market tribe,
Or e'er disgrac'd the name of cook
To falsify the kitchen book;
Nay, if I have touch'd or taken,
For my own use, one slice of bacon;
If ever I were such a sinner,
May I now spoil Sir Jeff'ry's dinner;
And should I suffer such disgrace,
I instantly should lose my place!"

Chamber Maid.

  "May I be hang'd by some bell rope
If e'er I cribb'd an ounce of soap,
Or pocketed wax-candles' ends
To deal out slily to my friends;
Or, in the linen's gen'ral muster,
Made free with towel or with duster;
Or e'er did bribes from turners take,
The mops to spoil, or brooms to break;
Or in the bed-rooms made a stir
To call in the upholsterer,
As house-maids with dishonest view,
Are, as I've heard, so apt to do!
Or ever gave, in washing tub,
The linen a hard, tearing rub,
That might encrease the rags—a fee
Which household custom gives to me!
—That I speak truth, I here declare,
And Molly, too, the same will swear;
Who striking hard upon the dresser,
Hop'd Heaven itself would never bless her,
If, from whate'er she saw or knew
What had been promis'd was not true."

Kitchen Maid.

  "Though I am rather in a flutter,
I vow I never turn'd the butter
Into the pot that might encrease
The perquisite of daily grease;
Nor sought for fat, no, not a bit,
But what dripp'd kindly from the spit,
Or from the plates and dishes came,
When I had daily clean'd the same;
Nor ever let a candle fall
To fill a gaping interval!
Nor did I e'er a doit receive
Which coal-merchants may sometimes give
To those who watch the kitchen-grate,
And keep it in a flaming state;
Who may the poker wield at will
And seldom leave its poking still,
Nor e'er the kitchen blaze controul
By being niggard of the coal:
Charges that are so often laid
To the hard-working, kitchen maid!"

Footman.

"O may I never, never be A servant out of livery, Which is th' ambitious, hop'd-for lot Of all who wear the shoulder knot!
O may I never quit my place Behind the chair, nor shew my face, The sideboard's glitt'ring show to grace,	}
If, when my master ceas'd to dine, I ever stole a glass of wine! O, may my food be pitch and mustard, If ever I took tart or custard, If e'er I did my finger dip In some nice sauce and rub my lip! If turnpike tolls I e'er enlarg'd,— May I this moment be discharg'd!"

Coachman.

"May I be flogg'd with thorny briars If e'er I heard such cursed liars,
And should I venture now to say I ne'er purloin'd or corn or hay, I should be liar big as they!	}
Nay, 'tis such folly to be lying, And all these trifling tricks denying, Which, ere a fortnight's past and over, Mr. Ezekiel must discover. Sir Jeff'ry's keen look never sees What are but clever servants' fees, And he would feel it to his sorrow, Were he to change us all to-morrow; For the new steward soon will see No master's better serv'd than he. There's not a carriage about town That looks genteeler than our own; Or horses with more sprightly air, Trot through the street or round a square. I say that we all do our duty, And if we make a little booty, We never hear Sir Jeff. complain: And wherefore should one give him pain? If better servants he should seek, He must be changing ev'ry week; And I am sure that kind of strife Would spoil the quiet of his life: Nay, as you know, there is no question Would operate on his digestion; And when that fails, it is a point That puts the rest all out of joint. Thus all our trifling, secret gains Save him a multitude of pains: And when our daily work is done, If we kick up a little fun, No harm proceeds—no ill is meant— He's not disturb'd—and all's content. —Nay, now my friends, I'll club my shilling, And you, I'm sure, will be as willing To drink—that bus'ness may go on In the same temper it has done, And, without any treach'rous bother, That we may understand each other: That, without boasting or denying, We need not to continue lying; And that, disdaining needless fuss, Ezekiel may be one of us."

  The wine was brought, for vulgar beer
Was not thought proper to appear;
The cook a pigeon pie produc'd,
And other tit-bits that amus'd
The appetites of those who sought 'em,
With thanks to the fat dame who brought 'em.
—Thus the new steward was made free
Of kitchen hospitality;
And to be blind to what he saw,
He was bound down by kitchen law.

At length, in office thus install'd, And each was gone where duty call'd,
He, with a pressing arm, embrac'd The busy cook's well-fatten'd waist, As with her pin she plied the paste;	}
When from her active tongue he drew The duties which he had to do, And how he might their claims divide, Nor lean too much to either side. —Our hero, who now felt his ground, Thought not of change in what he found; And that to enter on reform Would be but to excite a storm, Disturb the Knight's desir'd repose And fill a kitchen full of foes. He plainly saw his station bound him To be at peace with all around him: But, as the diff'rent int'rests drew, He rather trembled at the view.

  Thus, if we may small things compare
With those which more important are,
We may Ezekiel's state apply
To maxims of philosophy,
By which it seems life's changeful hours
Are subject to two adverse powers,
That govern as by time or chance,
Nay, struggle for predominance;
While each, at diff'rent hours, may be
Possess'd of short-liv'd victory,
As varying impulses may bind
The operations of the mind.
Here selfish int'rest will prevail—
There gen'rous feeling turns the scale;
So that he neither can be said
Strictly to be or good or bad;
But in the one or other sense,
Of that presiding influence
Which counteracting views may give,
And the complying mind receive.
Thus, subject to these adverse powers,
In diff'rent places—diff'rent hours—
Poor mortal man, by their constraint,
May be a sinner or a saint.
To day he's wading to the chin
In folly's stream, through thick and thin;
While, on the morrow, he may prove
What virtue's self delights to love.

'Twas in this case our hero stood: He might be bad—he might be good; If good, he must the kitchen sweep— If bad, its tricks a secret keep; But if he would preserve his cloth, He must determine to be both.
Thus, as he took a thoughtful view, He saw, his int'rest to pursue, He must divide himself in two.	}
Above to stick to rigid plan— Below to join the lively clan: In what Sir Jeff'ry did entrust To his sole province, to be just; But ne'er to interrupt the show That was kept up by friends below: At least, he was resolv'd to try This system of philosophy; To be a favourite with all, In drawing room and servants' hall. From all that he at present view'd, No other plan could be pursu'd; No other method could he trace, To be at ease and keep his place.
Up-stairs to serious care he went, Down-stairs to stolen merriment, And thus the day and night were spent.	}

 Sir Jeff'ry, in a tone of pleasure,
Talk'd of Ezekiel as a treasure;
And, far as the good Knight could tell,
He merited the title well:
Nay, it is true, he never fail'd
To meet the humour that prevail'd;
And through the day, from morn till night,
Sir Jeff'ry found that all was right.
But when he slumb'ring sought his bed,
And on the pillow laid his head,
Then did our hero quit his post
And pass away like midnight ghost;
Then did he from his virtue move,
The power that rul'd him when above,
And seek the lively sports below;
For what could puzzled hunch-back do?
Could he another course prefer?
No,—he must take things as they were.

in the service of sir jeffrey gourmand

Drawn by Rowlandson

Quæ Genus, in the service of S^ir. Jeffery Gourmand.

In this wide world, how oft is seen A phantom with alluring mien, Y'clep'd Temptation, whose sweet smiles Too oft the stoutest heart beguiles. Whate'er its forms, they seldom fail Sooner or later to prevail. If it assumes a golden shower, Or sits in any seat of power, How numerous the slavish band Who offer to obey command: Still, some examples may be shown Of those whose virtues would disown Its influence, and refuse to fly, Or yield the palm of victory. But where's the heart that e'er disdains The pow'r that dwells where beauty reigns? If such a question we propose, Ezekiel was not one of those; And thus below-stairs he began To break upon his up-stairs plan:
Nay, this same rigid rule of right, In his close duties to the Knight, He now thought might be drawn too tight;	}
And that, in trifles, to his feeling, He might be safe in double dealing, And in the drawing-room apply The aid of kitchen policy: But he as soon would think of murther As to proceed an atom further. How he thus happen'd to decline From his strict, philosophic line; Why he relax'd from law severe In the Knight's upper atmosphere, Will not surprise one human creature Who the world knows, or human nature, Or recollects the joy or smart When passion first invades the heart.

There were two objects most bewitching, That sparkled all around the kitchen; Though so bright was every kettle, Or plate or pan of various metal, That each might gaze upon a face As if they peep'd into a glass: Though fire-irons did reveal The shining of the polish'd steel,— Yet these superior pow'rs display'd, Than aught by human artist made: In short, to state what they could be, And silence curiosity, They were two eyes which lustre shed Where'er the owner turn'd her head; Though they gave not the only grace That play'd on Molly's charming face. But whether 'twas her lips or nose, Or the fine curve of auburn brows, That aided the commanding eye In its well-play'd artillery, Howe'er that be—in his warm heart Ezekiel had receiv'd the dart, And as its ruling power he felt, Each steady purpose 'gan to melt:—
For her he might his virtue stake And let his yielding conscience quake, Nay, cheat Sir Jeff'ry for her sake.	}

  'Tis not the office of the Muse,
On slight suspicions, to accuse;
Nor does she now present to view
More than 'tis probable she knew:
But one day, and it may be more,
His constant meal of dainties o'er,
Dull nature did the Knight incline
To snore a little o'er his wine.
Our hero, seeing Molly pass,
He tempted her to take a glass;
For, in his state of tender feeling,
What gen'rous mind will call it stealing?
And scorn'd be they who think it treason
Against the better rules of reason,
If, in return, he sought a kiss;
But as he seiz'd the melting bliss,
Tall Margery was passing by
By chance or curiosity:
She glanc'd at all was onward going,
And what Ezekiel was bestowing;
When, as she cast her leering eye,
Thus thought her rising jealousy.
"If, Sir, you give Miss Moll the glass,
I'll try to make a bottle pass;"
Then push'd her stout arm by the door,
The sideboard's juices to explore.
If 'twas by chance the action came,
Or if a purpos'd trick's to blame,
A smart kick caus'd the door to close
And caught the damsel by the nose.
The luckless nose was rather long,
And had its gristle not been strong,
Had not the door been edg'd with baize
To give its hurried motion ease,—
Had it been sharp, the wicked pinch
Might have cut short that nose an inch.

Madge now scream'd out at her disaster,
And swore that she would tell her master,
But our Ezekiel found a plaister;

}

Though what the plaister was he found
To silence tongues and cure the wound,
We must not nice enquiry make
For virtue's and our hero's sake.
But we may tell, for this we know,
That all was still and calm below;
Though as the faithful verse will prove
He shap'd another plan above,
Form'd to controul all household feud,
And be as honest as he could;
Thus give to things another face
To live at ease and keep his place.
—Two int'rests into one were thrown,
Those of Sir Jeff'ry and his own:
The former strictly to maintain,
Nor yet the latter to disdain;
The Knight's confiding grace to keep,
Nor let his own advantage sleep;
The kitchen's jovial mirth to boast,
But leave the cook to rule the roast;
To be of Molly's smiles possest,
Though never to offend the rest:
And here we fear is the beginning,
The first short lesson of his sinning.

  So young, and with such little sense
Of what is call'd—experience;
And whom the world had not yet taught,
As it might do, to set at nought
What conscience tells us we should shun,
What we should do or leave undone;
Or, with a certain self-deceit,
The virtues of the heart to cheat,
He certainly appears to be
Envelop'd in perplexity,
And verging on a dang'rous scrape
From which he might not make escape
Without a loss which he would rue
Of the fair prospects in his view;
And thus be on a sudden hurl'd
Faithless and friendless on the world.

  As in his plan this hasty change
Was, it may seem, so very strange,
It therefore may be well to know
From whence such awkward motives flow,
For awkward motives they must be
Which trench upon integrity.
It was not Molly's sparkling eyes
Which sought his virtue to surprise;
For though he might her heart beguile
To yield his wish a fav'ring smile,
She ne'er allow'd of a pretence
Beyond the claim of Innocence.

There is a proverb so well known It would be ign'rance not to own The having heard and felt its truth E'en in the days of early youth, That, if we chance with those to live Whose lives a bad example give, They will convey, as we shall find, A foul contagion to the mind. Thus for a time Ezekiel stood Firm as the tree that crowns the wood, But, after mocking ev'ry blast, Will sometimes bend and fall at last. Though whether he began to shake, Or only suffer'd twigs to break,
But still retain'd his fibres bound, In firm defiance to the ground, While the main trunk, tho' shook, was sound,	}
Is what the curious mind shall know, And no far distant page will show. Thus the humble verse will trace His future honour or disgrace; As intermingled they must be With scenes of household history.

When good Sir Jeff'ry's gout was kind And to his bed he was confin'd; No dainty dinner to be got, And nought but messes in the pot, The kitchen folk, then quite at leisure, Would think of more than common pleasure; Then butlers of the higher station, And valets to gay men of fashion, Invited were, to join the ball Now given in the servants' hall, With ladies' maids who titles bore Of mistresses—whose gowns they wore; And sometimes a smart tradesman, too, Would pop in to say—how do ye do.
—Here all home secrets were betray'd— The various tricks which servants play'd, And how their fortunes could be made.	}
When one grave man his silence broke, And thus to our Ezekiel spoke:— "Had I," says he, "so fine a place, As your superior manners grace; Had I a rich man in my keeping, Who passes half his time in sleeping; Whose purse is always in your view, And lets you pay his tradesmen too; While, that he may enjoy his ease, He makes you guardian of his keys, My growing fortune soon should flow, And in a way he ne'er should know. If by his bed you are his nurse, And have the jingling of his purse; If, when the doctor comes to see him, And you are calmly told to fee him, You must be nam'd the veriest elf If, then, you do not fee yourself: Nay, when his fingers, cramp'd with gout, Cannot well take a sovereign out, And he should bid you take out four, Contrive to grapple five or more. 'Tis when he's sick with aches and ails, When pain torments and mem'ry fails, When the night's pass'd his bed beside, Then Fortune tells you to provide For future wants,—and bless the hour That gives the means into your power: Nor ever fail, on some pretence, To rail against the rash expense Which doctors and their varlets bring To patients, sick and suffering, Till you can get him to exclaim— 'Expense is a mere idle name; Of cost let your complainings cease, I care not so it gives me ease:' Then offer up your thanks to Heaven That to his fortune it is given To be thus blest with ample wealth, At any cost to purchase health. This is your harvest; I shall tell Another story when he's well: That time's but short,—though let him see That then you're all economy. When he can settle an account, And look into the just amount, Then, then let ev'ry thing appear Just as it ought—correct and clear. Thus let your speculations rove When well below, when sick above, And all I'm worth I now would stake You will, in time, a fortune make. Rich as he is, and careless too, With such a confidence in you, Sir Jeffery will never feel Your happy turn in fortune's wheel."

  "Hold, hold awhile," the list'ner said,
"This is too much," and shook his head;
"For still I feel, without offence,
I've not quite done with Conscience,
Nor can so boldly lay aside
The warnings of that faithful guide!
Am I this moment to forget
How much I'm in Sir Jeff'ry's debt,
And thus, with chance of foul disgrace,
To play the rogue and risque my place?"
"No, no," his counsellor replied,
"Servants and masters are allied;
Each is to each a foster-brother,
And have their claims on one another.
An useful servant is a treasure,
Whose service masters seldom measure.
What I now from my heart commend,
As an experienc'd, willing friend,
Is not to rob or place your paw
On what is guarded by the law,
But such as are no more than fees
For all your extra services;
For duties which no pay engages,
Under the common name of wages;
For what your varied service grants
To all his fancied, sickly wants,
Which never can your toil requite
For all you do by day or night.

  "When Sir Jeffery fortune gain'd,
By contracts from the State obtain'd,
Think you he had a pious loathing
To crib a yard from soldiers' clothing?
And when he did his thousands touch,
To say—'my lord, I've got too much;
And I am ready to confess
I should have done the job for less.'
How could such men their fortunes make
Did they but fair advantage take!
And have you not an equal claim,
In a small way, to do the same?
—When the Knight took his daily range
From Mincing Lane to the Exchange,
And calculated as he went,
How he should make his Cent. per Cent.
Think you that he was over-nice
To fix his rate of merchandise?
When his ships sought some foreign strand,
Did he disdain the contraband,
If he could but with safety chouse
The sentries of the custom-house?
A little smuggling all allow,
But only mind the when and how:
Take your per centage, but with care;
And who will say it is not fair?
—I've serv'd the wealthy and the great,
Nay once a Minister of state,
And as I saw that in his station
He did not fail to rob the nation,
I thought I might indulge the whim,
As a turn serv'd, to pilfer him.
I courted too my Lady's maid,
For Charlotte understood her trade:
I form'd my plan and did espouse her,
Then started up a tonish grocer,
Kept butlers in my constant pay
Who serve me in the usual way,
And all the house-keepers around
With certain something in the pound.
Now hear the advantage which I share
From all my caution, all my care!
I have a genteel, pleasant home,
To ladies let my drawing-room,
And in a whisky I can ride
With Charlotte smiling by my side.
'Tis thus I offer to your view,
What I have done,—for you to do."

Here this fine conversation ended, But not, perhaps, as was intended, Which strong temptations might display To lead th' unsettled mind astray; And, for a time, as fancy play'd, Now beaming light, now seeking shade, Ezekiel hover'd o'er the plan Of specious rogue or honest man. Perhaps a smart, neat, pleasant shop, Did on his pericranium pop, With his warm, faithful wish to crown, The lovely Molly then his own: Such interests might his purpose guide, Till he was questioned by his pride;— "—But can this be a proper plan For one bred like a gentleman?
'Tis true I cannot change the show Of kitchen policy below, There I must yield, I'm bound to know:	}
But, in the regions above, The whole in rectitude shall move; To the Knight's goodness I may trust, And faithful will I be and just; Nor ever take or e'en receive But what his favour's pleas'd to give; Nor shall reproach my mind disgrace Whene'er I look him in the face." Such were his thoughts,—the grocer fail'd. Thus honesty at length prevail'd, And sav'd him, as things shortly stood, From baseness of ingratitude.

  In a few days the parting gout
Gave the Knight leave to go about,
And one day in his arm-chair plac'd,
The table with its luncheon grac'd,
Smiling, as he luxurious sat,
He thus let loose his easy chat.

"This soup, my friend's a special treat, Fit for an Emperor to eat, And now, my pleasure to pursue, I trust I have a treat for you. I've spar'd no pains to know the fate That on your future hopes may wait, And what I shall proceed to tell May altogether please you well, Unless you are resolv'd to try New whims and tricks of foolery, On which, however will depend, Whether your master is your friend. If, at all points, the news I bring May not be quite so flattering; Yet surely it deserves at least, To be thought good, if not the best. —You need no longer stand in awe Of any terrors of the law, The beating you to Gripe-all gave Did little harm to that same knave, For he surviv'd to play a prank, By robbing of a country bank, And fled, as his late neighbours say, To flourish in America. Thither your fortune too is gone, But then your fears are also flown. Time, it is hop'd may make amends, Fortune and you may still be friends; Nor shall I my best wishes smother To introduce you to each other. My growing favour you will see, So lay aside your livery: Hence you will need not a disguise 'Gainst curious thoughts and prying eyes: Your former title you may claim, Again Quæ Genus is your name: Be faithful, and you soon shall know The kindness I may yet bestow.
Nay, be but honest, while I live Your upright service shall receive All that my grateful hand should give:	}
Nor doubt my purpose as sincere,— More may be meant than meets the ear."

  What heart, with the least sense of good,
That would not melt with gratitude,
When such a gen'rous friend was near
The clouded scenes of life to cheer,
And bid the drooping hopes pursue
A brighter prospect now in view!
And where's the heart that would not feel,
And where's the tongue that could conceal
The sense that virtue had withstood
Such specious efforts to delude!
Quæ Genus the sensation felt
That bade repenting thoughts to melt;
Nay, he e'en cast his eyes to Heaven,
With doubts that he should be forgiven
For having listen'd to deceit
And almost yielded to the cheat,
Whose principles had he obey'd
As in the grocer's scheme display'd,
All trembling he should now have stood
A monster of ingratitude.
What he had 'scap'd his heart confess'd,
And his moist eyes confirm'd the rest.
With ev'ry grateful feeling fraught
He spoke not, but 'twas thus he thought:—
"My ever-watchful care shall tend
To make me worthy such a friend,
And all my kindred virtues burn
To make that friend a due return."

  The Knight, with kindness, view'd the feeling,
Which poor Quæ Genus was revealing;
When, to cut short the pleasing pain
Which words were failing to explain,
He smiling bade him take his way
To the known duties of the day.

Of words there was a mute hiatus, And of the noon-tide apparatus The table quickly was bereft, While with some new-born pamphlet left, Sir Jeffery calmly was proceeding To gratify his usual reading, When our Quæ Genus bore away The fragments of the lighten'd tray, And sought his pantry's cool retreat, Where, lolling on a welcome seat, He let his busy fancy range Throughout the unexpected change, That did upon his fortune wait; And still, though humble was his state, Scarce could he think it a disaster To wait the will of such a master; Nor did his pride reluctant bend, Since that same master was his friend. All that indulgence could bestow Sir Jeff'ry did not fail to show; And, when alone, it seem'd to please The knight to set him at his ease, And shrink the distance to a span Between the master and the man.
—Nay, here it cannot be denied That it was soothing to his pride To lay the shoulder-knot aside.	}
The liv'ried dress of red and brown He thus was call'd on to disown: In blue and buff, or buff and blue He now appear'd to daily view. The knight allow'd the taylor's art By all its power to make him smart; And Snip with his consummate skill, In working drapery to his will, By his contrivance gave the cape A flow to soften down the shape, So that the hump could scarce be said His general figure to degrade, Nor, to a common view, be seen To indispose his pleasing mien.

Thus did he sit and calmly bless

The hopes of promis'd happiness.

  Thus the same passions govern all
Who creep on this terrestrial ball:
Their objects, truly, are the same,
However shap'd, whate'er their name.
What though the varying plan confounds
In giving sixpences or pounds,
In velvet or in home-spun cloth,
They may be base curmudgeons both.
Some are by charity enroll'd
On tablets proud in lines of gold,
While others, as by stealth, convey
The mite that shuns the light of day;
Though each performs a diff'rent part,
Each may possess a Christian heart.

  It is not upon wealth alone
That happiness erects its throne:
How oft, alas! it is we see
The rich involv'd in misery;
How oft is view'd in reason's eye
The wants which wealth can ne'er supply!
The way to power may be betray'd,
Though 'tis with solid gold inlaid;
Nay, purchas'd pleasure prove deceit,
And be at length a very cheat.
—How weak, how vain is human pride,
Dares man upon himself confide:
The wretch who glories in his gain
Amasses heaps on heaps in vain.
Why lose we life, in anxious cares,
To lay in hoards for future years?
Can they, when tortur'd by disease,
Cheer our sick heart and purchase ease?
Can they prolong one gasp of breath,
Or calm the troubled hour of death?
What's man in all his boasted sway?
Perhaps the tyrant of a day.
Can he in all the pride of power
Ensure his honours for an hour?
Alike the laws of life take place
Through ev'ry branch of human race:
The monarch, of long regal line,
Was rais'd from dust as frail as mine.
Can he pour health into his veins
Or cool the fever's restless pains?
Can he worn down in nature's course
New brace his feebled nerves with force?
Can he, how vain is mortal power,
Stretch life beyond the destin'd hour?

"Consider, man, weigh well thy frame; The king, the beggar, is the same,
Dust form'd us all,—each breathes his day, Then sinks into his mortal clay." Thus wrote the fabling Muse of Gay.	}

Such thoughts as these of moral kind Quæ Genus weigh'd within his mind:
For wherefore should it not be thought That, as his early mind was taught, It might be with sage maxims fraught?	}
—Thus seated, or as he stood sentry, Sole guardian of the butler's pantry, Which lock'd up all the household state, The cumbrance rich of massy plate, And all the honour that could grace The power of superior place, That did acknowledg'd rank bestow O'er all the kitchen-folk below; What wonder that his mind should range On hopes that waited on the change Which unexpected Fortune's power Seem'd on his present state to shower. Though while his wand'ring mind embrac'd The present time as well as past, The visions of the future too Gave a fair prospect to his view. But life this well-known feature bears, Our hopes' associates are our fears, And ever seem, in reason's eye, As struggling for the mastery, In which they play their various part, To gain that citadel the heart.

  Thus though our Hero's honest pride
Was, for the present, satisfied;
And did things, as they seem'd to show,
Promise to stay in Statu Quo,
He, surely, would have ask'd no more
For Fortune on his lot to pour,
And with all due contentment wait
For what might be his future fate:
But while the present hour beguiles
His cheerful mind with cheering smiles,
The forward thought would strive to sow
An awkward wrinkle on his brow.
Now, strange as the event appears,
The source of all his hopes and fears
Was on each settled point the same,
And Jeff'ry Gourmand was its name.

The Knight most gen'rous was and free, And kind as kindest heart could be, So that Quæ Genus scarce could trace The humbling duties of his place. Whate'er he did was sure to please, No fretful whims appear'd to tease; And while with fond attention shown, He did each willing duty own, Sir Jeff'ry frequent smiles bestow'd, And many a kind indulgence show'd, And oftentimes would wants repress To make his fav'rite's labours less:
Nay, when he dawdled o'er his meat, Would nod and bid him take a seat To share the lux'ry of the treat.	}
—He fancied, and it might be true, That none about him e'er could do What his peculiar wants required, And in the way he most desired, As his Quæ Genus, thus he claim'd him, Whene'er to other folk he nam'd him. Indeed, he took it in his head That no one else could warm his bed, And give it that proportion'd heat That gave due warmth to either sheet.

  Our Hero rather lik'd the plan,
As Molly brought the warming-pan,
And having pass'd it through the door,
Waited without till all was o'er.
Thus, having rang'd the alarum-bell,
With other things I must not tell,
And seen Sir Jeff'ry's pillow'd head
Turning to rest within his bed,
Quæ Genus bore the pan away
Where Molly fair was us'd to stay.
He was to honour firm, and she
The mirror bright of Chastity.
Thus half an hour was often spent
In interchange of sentiment,
Which doubtless was some tender theme:
A subject for a pleasing dream.

  All this tells well,—nor was this all;
The sceptre of the servants'-hall
Was now committed to his hand;
O'er that he had supreme command,
But such his mild and smiling sway,
All felt a pleasure to obey;
And 'twas the kitchen's daily toast,
Long may Quæ Genus rule the roast.
Tradesmen did to his worth subscribe,
For bills were paid without a bribe;
And good Sir Jeffery quite content
How the allotted income went,
At no accounts e'er gave a look,
But those which fill'd his Banker's book.

What could our Hero more desire, What more his anxious wish require, When with a calm and reas'ning eye He ponder'd o'er his destiny, As he unwound the tangled thread That to his present comforts led, And serv'd as a directing clue In such strange ways to guide him through? —To what new heights his hopes might soar, It would be needless to explore: For now the threat'ning time appears When he is troubled with his fears. His hopes have triumph'd o'er the past; But then the present may not last; And what succession he might find Harass'd with doubts his anxious mind. —Of the gross, cumbrous flesh the load Sir Jeffery bore did not forebode Through future years a ling'ring strife Between the powers of death and life; The legs puff'd out with frequent swell, Did symptoms of the dropsy tell; The stiffen'd joints no one could doubt Were children of a settled gout; And humours redd'ning on the face, Bespoke the Erysipelas. Indeed, whene'er Quæ Genus view'd, With rich and poignant sauce embued, As dish to dish did there succeed, Which seem'd by Death compos'd to feed With fatal relishes to please The curious taste of each disease, That did Sir Jeffery's carcase share And riot on the destin'd fare: When thus he watch'd th' insidious food, He fear'd the ground on which he stood. —Oft did he curse the weighty haunch Which might o'ercharge Sir Jeff'ry's paunch; And to the turtle give a kick, Whose callipash might make him sick. He only pray'd Sir Jeff'ry's wealth Might keep on life and purchase health. "Let him but live," he would exclaim, "And fortune I will never blame." Money is oft employ'd in vain, To cure disease and stifle pain; And though he hop'd yet still he fear'd Whene'er grave Galen's self appear'd; For when the solemn Doctor came, (Sir Midriff Bolus was his name,) He often in a whisper said, "I wonder that he is not dead, Nay, I must own, 'tis most surprising, That such a length of gormandising Has not ere this produc'd a treat For hungry church-yard worms to eat, And 'tis the skill by which I thrive That keeps him to this hour alive.
Nay, though I now Sir Jeffery see In spirits and such smiling glee, I tremble for to-morrow's fee."	}
—When this brief tale he chose to tell And ring his patient's fun'ral bell, Quæ Genus fail'd not to exclaim, As he call'd on the Doctor's name, "O tell me not of the disaster That I must feel for such a master, Nay, I may add, for such a friend Were I to go to the world's end, Alas, my journey would be vain, Another such I ne'er should gain!"

Sir Midriff, member of the college, And of high standing for his knowledge, In lab'ring physic's mystic sense And practical experience, As common fame was pleas'd to say, Expected more than common pay. Now, as Sir Jeff'ry never thought His health could be too dearly bought, Whene'er the healing Knight was seen, Wrapt up within the Indian screen, To shape the drugs that might becalm Some secret pain or sudden qualm; Or when there was a frequent question, Of bile's o'erflow and indigestion, Or some more serious want had sped Sir Jeff'ry Gourmand to his bed, Quæ Genus fail'd not to convey (For he had learn'd the ready way), The two-fold fee, by strict command, Into Sir Midriff's ready hand. Thus, in this kind of double dealing, The Doctor had a pleasant feeling, That seem'd to work up a regard For him who gave the due reward, And knew so well to shape the fee From the sick chamber's treasury.
Thus when our Hero told his pain And did his future fears explain, Galen replied,—"Those fears restrain,	}
To this grave promise pray attend, Sir Midriff Bolus is your friend."

  Such, when he touch'd the welcome fees,
Were the sly Doctor's promises:
Quæ Genus with good grace receiv'd 'em,
Though 'tis not said that he believ'd 'em.
—No, never was a visit past,
But it was hinted as the last,
Had they not been in lucky trim
To have sent off post-haste for him.
Whene'er the Knight's legs took to swelling,
All ears were bor'd with sad foretelling;
And if his chest was over-loaded,
Some dire disaster was foreboded,
But failing in prophetic story,
He gave his science all the glory.
A year, howe'er, was past and gone,
And all the household cares went on,
In active zeal and order too,
As all such matters ought to do,
With hours of leisure well employ'd,
And many a fantasy enjoy'd.

But something yet remains to know:— To manage two strings to your bow, A maxim is, which ev'ry age Has rend'red venerably sage, And forms a more than useful rule In the world's universal school. Sir Jeffery, we make no doubt, In various ways had found it out: It might have help'd him on to wealth, And now to aid the wants of health,
He kept the adage in his view, And as one Doctor might not do, It now appears that he had two.	}
The one, in order due, has been Brought forth on the dramatic scene, Ranks high in bright collegiate fame, And M. D. decorates his name. He never ventures to prescribe But what is known to all the tribe, Who hold the dispensarial reign Beneath the dome of Warwick-Lane. The other, steering from the track Of learned lore, was styl'd a Quack; Who, by a secret skill, composes For many an ill his sovereign doses: But whether right or wrong, the town Had given his nostrums some renown. Salves for all wounds, for each disease Specifics that could give it ease, Balsams, beyond all human praise, That would prolong our mortal days. All these, in many a puffing paper, Are seen in striking forms to vapour, As, in the Magazines they shine, The boast of Doctor Anodyne. His office was advice to give In his own house from morn till eve, And a green door, within a court, Mark'd out the place of snug resort, Where patients could indulge the feeling That might dispose them to concealing The nervous hope, the sly desire To eke out life's expiring fire, Without the danger to expose Their secret or to friends or foes. Sir Jeffery was one of these Who thought it was no waste of fees, Though they were toss'd about by stealth, If he could think they purchas'd health: But here, who will not say, it seems He guarded life by two extremes. Sir Midriff told him he must starve, And Anodyne to cut and carve: But though the first he nobly paid, It was the latter he obey'd. Full often was his Merc'ry sent To bring back med'cine and content;
Permission, what he wish'd, to eat, And physic to allay the heat Brought on by a luxurious treat;	}
To give the stomach strength to bear it, With some enliv'ning dose to cheer it. But still our Hero's watchful eye Saw that this sensuality Was bringing matters to an end, That he too soon should lose his friend; And in what way he should supply The loss when that same friend should die, Did often o'er his senses creep When he should have been fast asleep. Sir Midriff to his promise swore, And Anodyne had promis'd more, Both had prescrib'd or more or less, A future vision of success: But time has still some steps to move, Before they their engagements prove; Ere our Quæ Genus we shall see In a new line of history.

Sir Jeffery now began to droop, Nor was he eager for his soup:
He blunder'd on the wrong ragout, Nor harangu'd o'er a fav'rite stew, Scarce wild-duck from a widgeon knew.	}
No longer thought it an abuse, To see St. Mich: without a goose. Unless prepar'd with cordial strong, He hardly heard the jovial song, Or hearing, had not strength to move And strike the table to approve. Nay, sometimes his unsteady hand Could not the rubied glass command, But forc'd him slowly to divide The rosy bumper's flowing tide. Beside him oft Quæ Genus sat An hour, and not a word of chat; And when he was in sleepy taking The news would scarcely keep him waking.

  —It was a melancholy showing,
But poor Sir Jeffery was a-going.
"Indulge his gormandising swallow,
And apoplexy soon must follow,"
Such did Sir Midriff's sage foreknowledge
Give as the doctrine of the College.
"—Now, if you dare to keep him low,
A dropsy gives the fatal blow.
Remember, my good friend, I pray,
What Anodyne is pleas'd to say."
When, in a kind of solemn croak,
The Quack, with shaking noddle, spoke.

Thus did the differing doctors fail, Nor could their varying skill prevail: They neither could set matters right, Or quicken a pall'd appetite. More weak and weak Sir Jeffery grew, Nay, wasted to the daily view, And, as his faithful servant found, Between two stools he fell to ground.
But still he smelt the sav'ry meat, He sometimes still would eye the treat, And praise the dish he could not eat.	}
One day, when in a sunshine hour, To pick a bit he felt the power, Just as he did his knife apply To give a slice of oyster-pie, Whether the effort was too great To bear the morsel to his plate; Or if, from any other cause, His nature made a gen'ral pause, He gave a groan, it was his last, And life and oyster-pies were past.

  Which of the Doctors did the deed,
The one who starv'd or he who fed,
Or whether Nature, nothing loth,
Laugh'd at the counsels of them both,
And, as they issued their commands,
Her victim took from both their hands,
I know not, but it seems to me,
To be the work of all the three.

  Here it would be but idle folly
To call on fruitless melancholy,
To talk of blisters that in vain
Were spread to bring back life again;
Or all the lancet's power explore
To wake the breath that breath'd no more;
The stroke was struck, no human art
Could now withdraw the fatal dart.

THE various, the uncertain views Which the all-anxious world pursues, While it directs its searching eye To what is call'd prosperity, Compose the gen'ral, pictur'd strife That forms the daily scene of life; And make up the uncertain measure Of power, of riches, and of pleasure;
Which, whatsoe'er may be our state, Do on the varying projects wait Of lowly poor or princely great:	}
For as all worldly things move on We weigh them by comparison. Thus he who boasts his little all At a street-corner on a stall, Tempting the gaze of wandering eyes To view the transient merchandise, Will look to Fortune's smile to bless His humble trading with success, As he whose freighted vessel sails O'er distant seas with doubtful gales. Nay, in Ambition's humble school Perceive we not the love of rule, O'er rustic swains to bear the rod And be a village demi-god? To gain command and take the lead Where mean submission courts a head, Does in the lowest class prevail Of vulgar thoughts to turn the scale, As that which on their wishes wait, Whose object is to rule the state. —Seek you for pleasure as it flows, In ev'ry soil the flow'ret grows; From the pale primrose of the dale Nurs'd only by the vernal gale,
To the rich plant of sweets so rare Whose tints the rainbow colours share And drinks conservatorial air.	}
But, 'tis so subject to the blast, It cannot promise long to last; Though still it 'joys the fragrant day, Till nature bids it pass away. The rude boy turns the circling rope, Or flies a kite or spins a top, When, a stout stripling, he is seen With bat and ball upon the green; The later pleasures then await On humble life whate'er its state, And are with equal ardor sought As those with high refinement wrought, Where birth and wealth and taste combine To make the festive brilliance shine.

CANTO III

Chamber Maid.

Kitchen Maid.

Footman.

Coachman.

CANTO IV

SILENCE for some short time ensu'd, Ere conversation was renew'd.
—Sir Jeff'ry first strok'd down his chin, With something 'twixt a yawn and grin, And then thought proper to begin.	}