IN the world's ever varying range
There scarce can be a greater change
Than from the hourly means of carving
Without reserve, to hints of starving;
From the men-cooks' superior waste
To fireless kitchen's cold repast;
From ham and fowl and beef and veal,
To a lean shoulder's third day meal,
From well-skimm'd broths, to greasy pot,—
But this was now our Hero's lot:
And here, perhaps, it may be fair
To ask what chance could bring him there;
For expectation sure might think
That he would rather soar than sink,
At least, he would his rank maintain
Among High-Life's domestic train,
And still display the priggish air,
In some fine street or splendid square,
Instead of opening the door
In Humbug-Buildings, Number Four;
Well known, as we shall shortly see,
For weighty scenes of Usury.
—How he this curious post obtain'd,
Without reserve will be explain'd.
My Lady Valcour, as 'tis known
To hap sometimes to Dames of Ton,
When sudden wants were set on edge
Might look a precious stone to pledge,
To raise a hasty sum or so
She did not wish Sir Charles to know;
For little systems of disguise
Are seldom seen to cause surprise
In the best order'd families.		 }
Molly she fail'd not to employ
In care of any glittering toy,
Which might so very useful be
In moments of necessity:
But this strange, awkward kind of trade
Was far from pleasant to the maid,
As she, to 'scape from prying eyes
Was told to change her air and size,
And, to perform her work complete,
To be a perfect counterfeit:
In short, as was not uncommon,
To make herself another woman.
She therefore, thought it best to ask
Quæ Genus to perform the task;
And old John Squeeze was recommended,
Who kindly to such wants attended:
Though some who lov'd a joke to crack,
Would laugh, and call him Squeezing Jack.
In a snug corner of the town,
To nameless spendthrifts too well known,
The miser liv'd, if life it be
Whose meat and drink was usury;
For the old Hunx was ne'er content,
Unless he gain'd his Cent. per Cent.;
And as all traffic with this Elf
Was secret interchange of pelf,
He fear'd not the rapacious paw
Of daily violated law.—
Diamonds that did 'mong ringlets blaze,
And caught the night's admiring gaze;
The necklace that from snowy neck
Did in its cluster'd fashions break
On swelling bosom, plac'd to share
The beauty nature planted there;
The rows of pearl that gave a charm
To the round grace of taper arm:
The bright drops which each sister ear
Does with an equal splendour bear;
And dazzling circles that are seen
Of rubies red, of em'ralds green,
And sapphires blue, whose blended rays
The rainbow to the hand conveys,
All these, at times, are forc'd to rest
Within the miser's gloomy chest:
In iron darkness there to wait
A longer or a shorter date,
Till gold's redeeming power shall say,
Come and re-brighten on the day.
On errands of this grave intent,
Quæ Genus now and then was sent,
And how he did his plans arrange,
Or in what shape place the exchange;
How he contriv'd these sly affairs,
Paid soon, or lengthen'd the arrears,
Of this we know not more nor less,
For we ne'er heard his tongue confess,
And 'twould be wasting time to guess.		 }
But, somehow, he contriv'd to please,
By grace or guile, old Master Squeeze,
And by some strange, peculiar art,
He gain'd upon the Us'rer's heart,
If an heart such a being owns,
Who chuckles when misfortune moans,
At least, when that is understood
To be a vessel fraught with good.
But to proceed, the mind's keen eye
Of Squeezing Jack, thought he could spy
In our Quæ Genus that quick sense,
Which might reward his confidence;
That wary, penetrating thought,
Which could not be too dearly bought,
And in his present, sickly trim,
Would be of golden use to him:
For he grew old and wanted aid,
In his nice calculating trade.
In short, in every point of view,
As one who certain fancies knew,
The old man felt that he would do,		 }
And that he could his interest make
A station at the desk to take.
 
Not the first time on business bent,
Though 'twas the last by Molly sent,
Our Hero to the office went,		 }
With his redeeming coin to pay
And fav'rite gems to bear away,
He was desir'd to give an ear
To the proposal he should hear,
When Squeezing John in cautious strain
Did thus his secret wish explain.
"—From what I know and all I see,
You soon will be at liberty,
The gentry to whom you belong
Will not require your service long;
And 'twould be well were you to take
The offer which I now shall make:
That is, as you already see,
To come, my friend, and live with me.
I hope no thought your mind engages,
About such petty things as wages,
I would not wish you to receive
What common spendthrift masters give;
I exercise a better way
All such as serve me well to pay:
Your bed and board will lib'ral be,
For you will live as well as me,
Such is my home œconomy.		 }
As for the service you will find
Its profits fully to your mind;
If you my interests understand,
Your own will follow hand in hand;
Nay, I my promise shall maintain,
That you a pretty fortune gain.
All I ask is, that you will be
The pattern of fidelity,
Which my observing eye has seen
To others you have lately been;
I have, my friend, but one word more,
And then my speechifying's o'er:
'Twill answer ev'ry purpose better
And I shall hold myself your debtor,
For reasons you shall plainly see,
If you will wear your livery,
For that can never be disgrace
Which soon will gain superior place."
 
Quæ Genus thought he could but try,
If but from curiosity,
Though some have said that then he view'd
The future freaks that he pursued.
Thus at the desk he soon was seated
To learn how folly could be cheated,
And to consent to play the rogue
With any spendthrift vice in vogue,
That did in pleasure's round perplex
In any form, in either sex.
The gains were great, nay almost certain,
While pride so slyly drew the curtain,
Indeed, it was so nicely clos'd,
That the rich schemes were ne'er expos'd.
—At first, a kind of gen'rous feeling,
A sense of honourable dealing,
Dispos'd him, with some doubts, to look
Into the Broker's daily book,
While he oft dipp'd his pen and thought,
Ere he the huge per-centage wrote:
Nay, he could pity the distress
Which did upon their bosoms press,
When, thus to pay for ill-bought pleasure,
They yielded up their gayest treasure.
—But then he mutter'd, "Where's the shame?
Others, like us, would do the same:
If we were now to shut up shop,
Others into the place would pop;
Extravagance would have its run
And fools speed on to be undone.
And their sad wants would be supplied,
If John had laid his schemes aside,
Or had turn'd Methodist and died."		 }
Thus interest to our Hero clung
To stifle sense of right and wrong;
And so at once he bade adieu
To Conscience for a year or two:
But, when attain'd the wish'd for store,
It should resume its former power.
Thus, at the opening of his trade,
He a most curious bargain made
With the Divinity within,
To help him on through thick and thin.

Drawn by Rowlandson

Quæ Genus in the service of a Miser.

But now, a Fair One will appear,
About her four-and-twentieth year;
Though, whatsoe'er may be her age,
She must be brought upon the stage,
Blooming and gay and form'd to please,
By the old man was call'd his niece,
And, though there were some doubts we know,
It turn'd out she was truly so.
All saw that he was fond of Miss,
Would often give and take a kiss,
And even with his money part,
To purchase smiles and make her smart.
Abroad she was not us'd to roam
But Novels read and stay'd at home.
The pantry's boon, so lean and spare,
Was forc'd on her unwilling care;
For when Old Avarice complain'd
Of the great cost his life sustain'd,
He ne'er forgot, 'mong human ills,
The baker's and the butcher's bills:
But 'twas her interest to be
The slave of his œconomy.
—An errand-man and one poor maid,
Were all who gave the household aid:
They were to am'rous purpose bent
So fed on love and were content;
And as Quæ Genus touch'd the Money,
Which was his fount of Milk and Honey;
His easy stomach never car'd
How lean the joint on which he far'd.
—It was his interest to agree,
In all things with Miss Emily,
As she could humour Uncle Squeeze,
And now and then possess the keys:
Nor could she shape her main design
Unless Quæ Genus would combine
The hobbling Old One to deceive,
And let in Friends without his leave.
She gave him physic, tuck'd his bed,
The pillow smooth'd to rest his head;
Then all around the curtains drew,
And having spoke the night's adieu,
Would gaily hasten down below
To smile upon the favour'd beau
Whom her commanding Billet-doux
Had summon'd to an interview.
From Uncle John's great hoard of wealth,
And the old man's declining health,
'Twas thought she soon would be a prize
Which smart young men might idolize;
That a great fortune Miss would be
From heirdom or by legacy:
While lovers, therefore, not a few,
Had pass'd before her in review,
Her kind warm heart might not disown
That she had fix'd her thoughts on one;
And he it was who had the power
To share with her an evening hour.
But to the point, which even love
Could not from her keen thoughts remove:
The Lady did not long delay
Thus the prime secret to convey,
"I have a precious plan, Quæ Genus,
And if 'tis manag'd well between us,
We may, as I know how, contrive,
v To make our mutual int'rests thrive.
I have already something done,
As you will hear, for Number ONE,
And there's another scheme will do,
As you will know, for Number TWO.
My uncle's wealth is that of Crœsus,
But how he'll leave it, Heaven bless us,
I know not, nay, the trembling elf,
May not as yet be sure himself;
Though he, perhaps, may leave the whole
To Charity, to save his soul.—
Some folk have thought to make a will,
Is signal given for Death to kill,
But should he an intestate, die,
The long expecting family,
Will feed the greedy, gaping maw,
Of griping, grinding, hungry Law.
For though I am the next of kin,
Such various claimants will rush in,
Such troops of distant, country cousins,
Will haste by scores, at least by dozens;
So many Lawyers may appear,
To promise each an ample share,
That in what way these things may end,
If fortune be my foe or friend,
I wish, by all means, to ensure
Some independent sinecure,
And as you must the labour bear,
You will a just advantage share.
But not an atom of his wealth
Must we attempt to take by stealth,
No, though we could this night convey,
As a sure, undiscover'd prey,
His iron chest with all the gold
And brilliant treasure it may hold.
I only ask my views to aid
But a small portion of his trade,
And while above his riches flow,
We may make mod'rate gains below,
And what of that by us is done,
Must be from funds which are our own."
—The parties were at once agreed,
And the scheme fail'd not to succeed:
Nay, had stern fate the stroke delay'd,
A decent fortune they had made;
But as it was, their transient gain
Gave them no reason to complain.
—Now, ere twelve months or more were past,
John Squeeze, alas! had breath'd his last;
And though they search'd the mansion round,
A Will was no where to be found;
And relatives in numbers came,
Their rights to prove, their shares to claim;
While the shrewd Miss Amelia Squeeze
Lock'd ev'ry box and kept the keys.
—With angry threats the house resounded,
It was confusion worse confounded;
While she secure in prudent savings,
Calmly beheld their idle ravings,
As different ways they did pursue,
Which diff'rent Lawyers bade them do.
—And here we cannot overlook
The wary way the lady took.
Her favourite swain, it must be known,
A Pleader was of some renown;
To whom this offer she propos'd,
With which the learned Lawyer clos'd.
"If of the wealth of Old John Squeeze,
Of whom you know I am the Niece,
You prove me to be lawful Heir,
My charms and fortune you shall share."
—Thus she was left amid the paws
Of Lawyers and the tardy Laws,
With chance that when ten years were past,
A husband she might get at last.
—Not as such union often ends,
She and Quæ Genus parted friends:
But ere Old Squeeze'em was dispos'd,
Ere the cold marble o'er him clos'd,
Our Hero had a gracious tender
From Jacob Levi, Money-Lender.
He, having had some kind of feeling
With John in his usurious dealing,
Observ'd Quæ Genus, who had been
Just such an useful go-between,
As would find favour in the sight
Of the keen, cautious Israelite,
Who, therefore, with inviting grace,
Offered him his vacant place.
The proverb says it is a curse
To go at once from bad to worse,
And though, at first, he did not feel it,
Time was determin'd to reveal it.
—Of late, or more or less, 'tis true,
Distress was in his frequent view,
But then in its prevailing feature,
It was but of a transient nature.
A proud man for a whole week's date
Might cease, perhaps, to eat off plate,
Still, Dresden service could supply
A varying scene of luxury:
Or vanity might not resort
To aid the splendour of a Court,
From absent state of decoration,
Required by certain rank and station:
But, for a time, well-fram'd excuses
Custom or fashion ne'er refuses;
When soon again the plate is seen,
The silver-smith has made it clean,
And in a week, or month, or so,
It will resume its usual show.
Again the glitt'ring gems display
At the gay Fête the dazzling ray,
On having done the appointed duty
To ease the wants of pride and beauty.
But now another scene succeeds,
The pledge is turn'd from glitt'ring beads
To mortgages and title-deeds;		 }
The short-liv'd search of ready-rhino
By imps of Loo or of Cassino;
Or to stop short a lawyer's threats,
And dunning for a tradesman's debts;
These yield to frightful views of ruin,
Which threaten absolute undoing;
That grasp at family estates
Of honour'd name and ancient dates,
And hasten on the heirs in fee
To gallop fast to beggary.

Drawn by Rowlandson

Quæ Genus & the Money-Lenders.

Quæ Genus, was brimful of zeal
To seize each turn of Fortune's wheel,
And eager to fulfil his plan
Of rising to a gentleman:
But though gold roll'd beneath his eye,
Though fees were paid and bribes were high,
His heart, which had not lost its feeling,
Shrunk from the base, remorseless dealing,
That gloating avarice employ'd
O'er the rich ruins it enjoy'd.
While, therefore, some kind, gen'rous sense
His heart felt of benevolence,
And ere of honour quite bereft,
He the rapacious Levi left,
In hope he might obtain a place
He should not think as a disgrace;
Nor of success had he to fear
From Valcour's written character;
Where all his virtues were pourtray'd,
In such a view that he was made
In every domestic sense
A paragon of excellence.
But sad to tell, it was not long
Before temptations, more than strong,
Were urg'd by a kind, zealous friend,
Who us'd on bus'ness to attend
Old Levi's Levees: He display'd
In artful whisper, the sure trade,
Which, manag'd as he could define,
Would shortly prove a golden mine.
"Think not," he said, "that I am canting;
Money, my friend, is all that's wanting.
A certain sum could I command,
I soon would purchase house and land.
Ere a short time had onward run,
I would strut forth a Buck of Ton;
The world, with its dull pride, defy,
And jostle fools of quality."
Quæ Genus felt his brooding plan
To be a finish'd Gentleman,
At that same word his spirit started,
And instantly he grew great hearted.
"Your scheme," he said, "at once explain:
If gainful, you shall share the gain."
"But hear me out," it was replied,
"And then you will be satisfied.
Know, you must an assistant be
At a club's gaming revelry.
O check, I pray, your staring eyes,
From looking on me with surprise;
Let not the scheme I offer freeze you,
Hear, and then do as it may please you!
Think not I would your hand entice
To deal the card or shake the dice;
You must employ a knowing friend,
And such a one I can commend;
He's wary, and suspicion guards,
By shrewdly managing his cards;
Whate'er he does is done with ease,
And heaps his gains by slow degrees,
Till he has such a sum attain'd
By which his object may be gain'd,
Then one successful effort make,
And seize a fortune in the stake.
He watches those who love to drink,
And sticks to such as cannot think:
He turns his skilful inclination
To young men who are prone to passion;
He has cool words for those who're heated,
Whose pride will not believe they're cheated;
In short, he can a card entice,
And fix good-fortune on the dice.
With him you may your money trust;
He will be generous as he's just:
Proceed at once on manly ground
And trust him with five hundred pound;
With that, my friend, let him alone,
He'll use it as it were his own."
Quæ Genus enter'd on his place
And acted with becoming grace;
But with his keen, suspicious eye
He saw what look'd like treachery,
Which wak'd the fancy to be thrifty,
So, of his pounds he gave but fifty.
—On his official duties bound,
He pac'd the hubbub-table round,
And with attentive leering kenn'd
His trusty, confidential friend,
Whose frequent nods and silent grinning
Full plainly told, he had been winning;
But, when Quæ Genus ask'd th' amount,
His friend thus settled the account.
"It does my very heart-strings grieve
That you have nothing to receive:
Two hours ago my luck was crost,
And then your fifty pounds were lost;
For when with your advance I play'd
Fortune became an arrant jade:
Though since 'tis true that I have won,
But then the risk was all my own;
And, if you had but ventur'd more,
Your purse might now be running o'er.
With a round sum to-morrow night,
Fortune may set all matters right:
As 'tis in war, so 'tis with gold,
She fails not to protect the bold."
Our Hero was not such a Flat
As to sit down content with that:
He first determin'd to resist
Or with a cudgel or a fist:
But on reflection, felt an awe
Of the grim, prosecuting law:
Besides, had he enrag'd the room,
It might have prov'd his final doom:
Still he for vengeance inly cried
And he was shortly satisfied.
—The Bow-street folk he happ'd to know
Were walking that way to and fro,
And when more closely on the watch,
He mov'd the door's unwilling latch,
The myrmidons rush'd rudely in,
And all above was noise and din.
Candles and lamps were all put out,
When it became a mingled rout,
While for the money on the table
Each grasp'd as much as he was able;
And our Quæ Genus had engross'd
More than by Humbug he had lost;
Then nimbly made a safe retreat
To lodgings in no distant street.
Here, for some time he pac'd the room,
To dissipate th' oppressive gloom
That did upon his spirits light
From the proceedings of the night.
"Indeed," he said, "what then was done
I do not wish to look upon,
Nay I would from my mem'ry cast
My curious ways for some time past,
But certain, busy reasons tell
Such effort is impossible.
All therefore, that I now can do
Is the forthcoming time to woo
With those endearments which may prove
Quæ Genus worthy of its love:
se of what is right,
al lamp burn bright."

Drawn by Rowlandson

Quæ Genus officiating at a Gaming House.

Such pensive musings on him wrought
Till he his welcome pillow sought,
When, as absorb'd in sleep he lay,
Fancy did on his spirits play,
And in a strange and fearful dream
A form did on his vision beam,
With ghastly look as it were come
From the pale confines of the tomb.
He seem'd with one uplifted hand
Instant attention to command,
The other, as he solemn stood,
Folded around the flowing shroud;
And thus Quæ Genus seem'd to hear
The hollow voice that pierc'd his ear.
"I am thy foster-parent's shade,
Who, in the earth, has long been laid,
And let his counsels be obey'd.		 }
'Tis Syntax who before thee stands,
And wait with awe his grave commands.
Fool as thou art, in thy misdoing
Art thou not hast'ning to thy ruin?
Am I call'd hither to accuse
Thy erring ways, and idle views?
Do I the wretched agent see
Of gambling fraud and usury?
And is it thus you form the plan
To vault into a Gentleman?
Syntax thy memory must own
As the sole parent thou hast known,
Whose mercy did the Foundling save
From menace of an infant's grave.
Better, perhaps, his fond regard
Had not thy sad condition spar'd,
If what of future life may last,
Wakes no contrition for the past.
Hear me, and tremble as I speak,
Though you may human laws escape;
The life you lead is not forgiven
By the offended laws of Heaven.
If such your doings, I can ne'er
Petition for your pardon there.
The present means which you possess,
If rightly us'd, will give success;
Nay, if you cease to roam abroad,
And turn from folly's wand'ring road;
If you keep all things right at home,
Much unexpected good may come.
Quæ Genus, to my words attend,
The errors of your life amend;
Resist the world's seducing power,
Or fear me at the midnight hour."
—Thus as he thought the vision spake,
The curtains round him seem'd to shake;
And frowning, as in angry mood,
At the bed's foot the figure stood,
When, in a misty gleam of light,
It seem'd to vanish from his sight.
 
He woke in such an agitation
His night-cap stream'd with perspiration;
He started with a fearful stare,
Not knowing if to pray or swear.
He did from further sleep refrain
As he perhaps should dream again,
And Sommerden's departed Rector
Might read another curtain-lecture.
But when as through the shutter's crack
He saw the beams of Phœbus break,
Up he arose, the bell he rung,
And, "Breakfast," issued from his tongue:
The loud command was soon obey'd,
And morning meal in order laid.
On sofa stretch'd, he munch'd the toast,
And sipp'd the Bohea, doubly dos'd
With cordial drops, we won't say gin,
Which he pour'd plentifully in,
And did his trem'rous nerves redeem
By power of the reviving stream,
From the dire horrors of the dream.		 }
—His spirits thus with strength recruited,
He turn'd his mind to what was suited
To the condition chance had bound him,
And perils which might still surround him:
Of his late playmates what became
When power broke up the midnight game;
And if pursued by any danger,
To which as yet he was a stranger.
But soon he found, enquiry made,
The Bow-street spirits all were laid;
Nor was it to the party known,
By whom the mischief had been done.—
Thus, from all legal threat secure,
He felt determin'd to abjure
The course of life he had pursued,
Nor suffer knav'ry to delude
His conduct into any plan
That might disgrace a Gentleman;
The character which his fond thought
Had to a flatt'ring crisis brought,
When he might try, and not in vain,
The wish'd for honour to maintain.
Besides, in favour of his scheme,
He felt the warnings of the dream,
As he their meaning understood
Foreboded much of future good.
At length his boasting fancies tired
Of all to which his pride aspired;
And, having nothing else to do,
He sauntered forth to take a view
Of what a saunter might present
For serious thought or merriment;
When, as he careless stroll'd along,
Half-humming some new-fangled song,
He heard a voice that did proclaim
His own but too familiar name.
'Twas Mr. Carmine, who was known
An artist of the first renown
For portraiture of living faces,
Whose pencil gave and heighten'd graces,
Who, 'mid the hurry of the street,
Did sauntering Quæ Genus greet:
When, having sought a place of quiet,
Free from the passing, bustling riot,
In civil tones the man of art
Began his Queries to impart.
"Your family, I hope, are well,
And will you Lady Valcour tell,
If it so please her you may come
And fetch her fine resemblance home:
Nay she may have forgot, I fear,
That the last sitting's in arrear:
Give but the hint as I demand
And you shall feel my grateful hand."
—Quæ Genus hasten'd to reply
With the gay Valcours' history,
And fear'd that, for a year or two,
The picture must in statu quo
Within his gallery remain,
At least, till they came home again.
"Well then," said Carmine, "tell me friend,
What fortunes on your steps attend."
"Sir," he replied, "'tis Fortune's pleasure
I should enjoy a state of leisure.
Sir Charles, so generous and kind,
Wish'd not that I should stay behind,
Nay, would have paid me high to go,
As I've a paper that will shew:
But certain schemes play'd on my brain
Which fix'd my purpose to remain,
And yet, with all my honest care,
I have not brought one scheme to bear."
"My friend," the artist said, "if you
Have not a better scheme in view,
My place, unless I greatly err,
Would suit your turn and character
'Tis but to know and to make known
The beauties by my pencil shewn,
And lard, as you the occasion see,
With strokes of modest flattery.
Take care you manage well your tongue
To please the old as well as young,
And study the expressive grace
That's seen to beam on any face;
When, in fair words and cautious mood
You may mark the similitude
Between the charms that smiling live,
And such as art like mine can give.
Nor to the sex your hints confine,
The ermin'd sage and grave divine,
The chubby face of childhood too
Attention must be made to woo,
While I shall to your mind impart
The nomenclature of my art;—
And if, as I presume you will,
Display the show with ready skill,
From Misses, Beaux, Old Dames and Sages,
You'll gain, Good Fellow, three-fold wages.
—Now turn the offer in your mind,
And, if your prudence is inclin'd
To take it, you will let me know
To-morrow how your wishes flow."

Drawn by Rowlandson

Quæ Genus with a Portrait Painter.

What though it was his warm desire
From days of service to retire;
Though he now hop'd the time drew nigh
To change his humble destiny,
He ask'd permission of his pride
That one more service might be tried,
As in the class he hop'd to move
It might a source of knowledge prove.
—Where could he such examples see
As in an artist's gallery?
For while he look'd at forms and faces
He might learn all the tonish graces,
Whatever manners could bestow,
What attitudes were best to show;
In short, all that he sought to know.		 }
For the fine folk who visit there
Come deck'd with all becoming care,
That the chaste pencil may not err
From truth of form and character,
Which not alone, while yet they live,
The canvas may be proud to give,
But offer to the admiring eye
Of an unborn posterity!
 
"O," he exclaim'd, "this is the plan,
I all its various merits scan,
'Tis half-way to a Gentleman!"		 }
—Nay, to be brief, the following day
Beheld him all in due array,
And soon alert, submissive, smart,
Well vers'd in all the slang of art;
He to perfection play'd his part.		 }
In mildest tone would just express
The charms a canvas may possess,
Where Loves and Graces seem to smile
And do th' enchanted eye beguile.
Though still he ne'er forgot his duty
To one who might have been a beauty,
There he did not throw out his hints
Of charming smiles and rosy tints,
But to her portrait would refer
For force and grace of character.
Still his own thoughts ne'er went astray,
He rather told what others say,
What my Lord B. prais'd yesterday.		 }
Thus he contriv'd, it seems, to please
Carmine's fine folk, of all degrees,
And what he gain'd, he now might say,
He got it in an honest way.
 
From all he did the Artist thought
He had a real treasure got;
Nor had Quæ Genus any cause
To grumble at domestic laws;
For all who serv'd them were content
With the well-rang'd establishment.
Above, was all that taste could show,
And ease and comfort reign'd below;
For Carmine sought not cost to spare,
And splendid plenty revell'd there.
—O Discretion, what thy powers,
To watch o'er life's fantastic hours,
To check warm nature's glowing heat
When passions in the bosom beat,
And whim and fancy's busy train
Play their vagaries through the brain!
But that comptroller of the will,
That sober judge 'tween good and ill,
Or from his folly or his pride
Quæ Genus seem'd to throw aside.
This was the spot where he might stay,
Where duty was improving play,
Till hope should paint the wish'd-for way.		 }
But whimsies did his wits employ
The play-game of an idle boy,
For which if, at his earliest school,
Thus he had dared to play the fool,
He would have felt the smarting fate
That does on thoughtless culprit wait.
—The easy, morning duties done,
The after-day was all his own,
When, as it surely may be thought
He might have some improvement sought:
But no, his genius seem'd to chuse
His luckless leisure to amuse,
In changing, when brimfull of glee,
The system of the Gallery;
Would make the pictures change their places,
And with his chalk deform their faces,
(For, from a boy, whate'er he saw,
With a rude outline, he could draw,)
Turn down the portraits in their frames,
And look and laugh and call them names.
Though if no other harm were done,
Unknown he might have had his fun:
But hence the mischief did ensue,
The names he call'd were written too:
In short, he turn'd the painter's school
Completely into ridicule,
And, by a Title or a Scroll,
He strove to stigmatize the whole.
—He would a Lawn-rob'd Prelate place
As if he ogled Cælia's face,
Exclaiming "There's no greater bliss,
No, not in Heaven, than Cælia's Kiss;"
While Cælia might be made to say
"Hands off, my pious Lord, I pray!
Remember what you ought to feel—
The good book says you must not steal;
And steal you will, if you receive it,
For hang me, Fusty, if I give it."
—He then, perhaps, would run his rig,
With Cap and Bells on Judge's Wig;
When thus his fancy might indite,
And in a well turn'd label write,—
"Now should My Lord be in a fury,
And shake that Wig, he'd fright the Jury."
—The portrait of an Aged Dame
Might have this added to her name,—
"Your Crutch-stick tells you scarce can walk,
But still you bore all ears with talk;
A most incorrigible Hag,
Who nothing but your Tongue can wag."
—A married pair together plac'd,
And with their household emblems grac'd,
Though looking in each other's faces,
He would remove to sep'rate places,
And then contrive to make them say,
"How shall we, Sir, this act repay?
Our Home Cabals we now shall smother,
At this nice distance from each other;
Thus far removed we shall agree,—
'Tis just as we both wish to be."
—A Lord Mayor's brow he would adorn
With honours of a double Horn;
Then from a long scroll make him cry,
"Make room for Cuckolds, here comes I."
—A Lawyer, clad in wig and band,
With briefs and papers in his hand,
Quæ Genus would contrive to trace
A Janus with a Double Face,
And each face with a ready tongue
To plead the cause or right or wrong,
Exclaiming in both scrolls—"'Tis We,
And waiting for a Double Fee."
Such was his wit, which sometimes told
Its thoughts in flashes far too bold:
Which the Muse knows would not be meet
For her Chaste Spirit to repeat.
—Thus when the Monkey's hand had done
With this display of idle fun,
And in his vacant hour of sense
Had triumph'd in Impertinence;
He would repair his saucy tricks,
The pictures in their places fix,
Wipe out the mischief of the chalk
And bid the portraits cease to talk;
Then with a military air,
Aloud command them—"As you were."—
—Now it, at least, was once a week,
He did this gay amusement seek,
When Carmine's absence gave the power
Thus to pass off his leisure hour,
As different faces might present
Fresh subjects for his merriment.
But those foul imps who oft molest,
With awkward thoughts, the human breast,
(As the expression's not so civil,
We will not hint it is the devil,)
Will, as their trade is to deceive,
Fast in the lurch their vot'ries leave;
And soon Quæ Genus was betray'd
Into the trap his folly laid.
 
One vernal eve, he had o'erflow'd
With chalk and chatter ill-bestow'd,
When call'd off for we know not what,
The unfinish'd mischief was forgot;
And in the morning, ere the clout
Had duly wip'd his folly out,
A party, who from town were going,
Came, just to pay what might be owing:
At the same time to represent
Where all their portraits might be sent.
—One Elder Lady rubb'd her eyes,
With equal anger and surprize,
While she could scarce believe she read,
The Witch of Endor o'er her head.
—Another, not of younger age,
Could not restrain her glowing rage,
When Mother Red Cap was the name
Which chalk had given to the Dame;
And then she scream'd aloud,—"Forsooth,
A Pipe is put into my mouth,
Whose nauseous fumes around me fly
To stamp me with vulgarity!"
—With them there was a sweet young lady,
In beauty's bloom and vernal gay day;
Her portrait in all stature stood,
With all the grace of attitude,
And charms to turn, though not of stone,
A Carmine to Pygmalion.
But she, in all her beauty's pride,
A Wheel-barrow was made to guide,
While ruby lips were seen to cry,
"Sheep's hearts for those who want to buy!"
The marble urn which stood behind her,
Was turn'd into a rude Knife-Grinder,
And at no very far approach
Was seen a passing Hackney Coach,
While all the lawns and groves so sweet
Were scrawl'd into a London Street.
—Anger in diff'rent tones were heard,
And when Carmine in haste appear'd,
Aghast he stood, then vengeance vow'd,
Declar'd his innocence—and bow'd;
But in a few short minutes prov'd
The wicked lines might be remov'd.
If water is not just at hand,
Saliva's always at command,
Which gives the tints a brighter glow,
And leaves a kind of varnish too.
This, with his handkerchief applied,
Soon wip'd the saucy chalk aside.
The Dame exclaim'd,—"Pray look, d'ye see,
Still more affronts, my Lady B——:
This is the height of all disgrace,
The Painter's spitting in my face."
Carmine, without a word, went on,
And when his cleansing skill was shown,
When witticisms disappear'd,
And each offending line was clear'd,
The sudden change appear'd to please,
And angry words began to cease.
But still he thought he ought to show
The threat'ning terms he could bestow.
The maids, each answ'ring to her name,
Aloud their innocence proclaim:
The housekeeper and sturdy cook
Propose to swear on Holy Book,
They could not do it:—Heaven forbid it!
And then they told,—Quæ Genus did it:
On which, the solemn Dames insist
Such Impudence should be dismiss'd.
But though they saw the alter'd show
Restor'd to all its pristine glow,
They let th' astonish'd artist know		 }
Th' insulted portraits should not stay
Where they then were another day.
Thus porters, order'd to the door,
Away each fine resemblance bore,
That they might be defac'd no more.—		 }
—The Dames departed in a huff,
With fanning cool'd,—consol'd with snuff:
While Miss, beneath her bonnet's poke,
Smil'd as if she enjoy'd the joke.
Our Hero now was seen to wait
The threat'nings of impending fate:
That fate, but in the mildest tone,
Carmine delay'd not to make known.
"As you vie with me in my art,
'Tis clear, my friend, that we must part:
Your genius is so full of sport
That you must go,—I'm sorry for't!
Such tricks will bring, as you must see,
Disgrace upon the Gallery;
Indeed, by your confounded fun,
Mischief may be already done!
You talk'd of schemes when you came here,
But, faith, this scheme may cost me dear.
As tricks like these you chuse to play,
'Twere well that you should march away;
So go, where, spite of common sense,
Your jokes may pass without offence.
Few words are best,—my mind to tell:
Pack up your Chalk,—and so farewell!"
—Quæ Genus the command obey'd,
As pleas'd to go as if he stay'd.
Here then his final Service ends:—
But Man and Master parted friends.

CANTO VIII