It often happens as we range
Through life, an unexpected change,
With sudden stroke may pain destroy
And turn our thoughts from grief to joy:
Or as some shock cuts off relief
May turn a flow of joy to grief.
Thus our days' varying system bears
Th' alternate play of hopes and fears:
Nay, when more pleasant views provoke,
May turn our gravity to joke.
Besides, as in the Drama's art,
The scene displays the varying part,
So apt are we to play the fool,
We serve for our own ridicule:
And when sly Fortune's pleas'd to vary
Our progress with some strange vagary,
We oft become such merry elves
To burst with laughter at ourselves.
Thus as QUÆ GENUS pac'd the room,
Reflecting on the time to come,
And all the heap of promis'd good
By ANODYNE to be bestow'd;
That he was to be cramm'd with wealth,
And turn all sickness into health;
His fancy, tickled at the thought,
He set each serious wish at nought,
And laugh'd till his sides seem'd to crack,
To think he should become a Quack.
But when he had indulg'd the joke
Which this idea might provoke,
He thought more gravely of the case
And vow'd to take the proffer'd place:
At all events, he could but try
This self-same scheme of quackery:
At least some knowledge he should gain,
And knowledge never comes in vain.
Indeed, what harm, if he succeed in
The arts of cupping and of bleeding?
The lancet's power to command
Might be of use in any hand,
And e'en in any hand might save
A forlorn suff'rer from the grave;
While he might well instructed be
In principles of Pharmacy.
He also felt that application
Might fit him for a better station;
That in some distant country town,
He might a _Galen's_ title own:
Where, if his fortune did not vary,
He might strut an Apothecary.
Thus between gravity and smile
Conceit play'd its full part the while,
Though not without a view to gains
Which might reward his present pains:
Indeed he knew the means that made 'em,
For he had for Sir _Jeffery_ paid 'em:
As while for potion, pill and plaister
A golden fee awaits the master;
He found it was a useful plan,
With lesser coin, to fee the man,
Who had the means to lift the latch
That did the secret wish dispatch;
And could th' impatience set to rest
Of the more eager, grumbling guest.
--Thus, with lively hope high-season'd,
QUÆ GENUS walk'd about and reason'd;
And, in his Pericranium fast,
This grave opinion fix'd at last:
If not in honour, yet in purse,
_He might go further and fare worse_,--
But if no other good were done,
There might be sure a world of fun.
[Illustration: _Drawn by Rowlandson_
QUÆ GENUS WITH A QUACK DOCTOR.]
Patients that morning had been plenty,
Not less it seems than five-and-twenty;
This the old woman smiling stated,
And told him that the dinner waited.
The table shew'd a plenteous treat }
Of fish and fowl and sav'ry meat, }
But poor QUÆ GENUS scarce could eat. }
For, though prepar'd for any diet,
His hunger soon repos'd in quiet.
The Doctor fed, but talk'd the while,
Of gastric juice and flowing bile;
Of kidneys and o'ergrowing liver,
As of sore eyes now cur'd for ever;
What his fam'd _Nostrum_ had perform'd,
And how it had the bowels storm'd
Of guttling Gourmand with such force,
That it a passage made of course,
Which three great Doctors tried in vain,
With all their boasted skill to gain.
Besides our hero did not know
How cookery went on below,
And he might think, poor dainty sinner,
That the same hands had dress'd the dinner,
Which were entrusted with the care
Each daily med'cine to prepare;
To melt the salves and spread anon
The cerates and diacolon;
That did the drugs or grind or pound,
And dress the sore leg's running wound:
But so it was, a sick sensation
Check'd all his powers of mastication,
And caus'd his stomach to resent
The very taste of nutriment:
Nay his sad appetite approv'd
When all the dishes were remov'd.
--They therefore soon had ceas'd to dine }
And o'er the second pint of wine }
The bargain clos'd with ANODYNE. }
What that was, it is fit to know,
And the verse now will briefly show.
QUÆ GENUS had made up his mind
Not to his interest to be blind;
But in the game that path pursue
Which prudence says we ought to do,
Nor to let scruples overpower
Th' advantage of the passing hour,
And yet that artifice restrain
Whose daily efforts are for gain:
In short to take the middle plan, }
Which, as the world is us'd to scan, }
Marks what is call'd an _Honest Man_. }
He might not hesitate complying
With a small spice of useful lying
That idle questions might disarm,
Do some slight good, but never harm,
Afford a sentimental grace
To conversation's common place,
And give a customary aid
To all the retail slang of trade.
With mind thus settled and prepar'd
He ANODYNE'S first lecture heard.
And as it surely was the best,
We shall pass over all the rest.
ANODYNE.
"This the first rule that I shall trace:--
You must command a solemn face;
Nor suffer objects to beguile
Your features to familiar smile.
Here, I must own, you oft may see
What may court transient pleasantry;
For e'en 'midst misery and pain,
You'll find such whims and fancies reign,
Hear patients cough and grunt and sneeze
In such uncouth, discordant keys,
That without care, I should not wonder
Your muscles into laugh might blunder.
You have a speech runs off at score,
As rapid as a chaise and four,
But with my sickly folk be slow
As a stage-waggon's us'd to go;
And pray remember to apply
Your words with due solemnity.
I know you well can suit your tongue
To any age, to old or young;
Nor will the task your care perplex
In the complaints of either sex;
And bear in mind, whate'er you see,
To veil your thoughts with modesty:
But hear the great and leading rule
Of this my Esculapian school.
"I care not by what name you call
This spacious parlour, room or hall:
But here my daily patients range
Whose order you must never change:
Were I to take them one by one,
By Heaven I should ne'er have done;
And, therefore, govern'd by their feather
I thus assort my birds together.
Here, on the right, are duly seated
Those who for gouty freaks are treated,
Then comes the symptomatic fever,
And next the bilious and their liver:
Then follow others in their turn,
The chills which shake, the heats that burn;
The stomachs which will ne'er digest
The food their feeders love the best;
The wheesers too are not far off,
All those who hem and spit and cough,
With such, not of the happiest kind,
Whose bowels threat to crack with wind
The Hypochondres here repose
Impatient for the cordial dose,
And children on the carpet brawl,
Till my spice biscuits calm the squall.
"I first review th' assembled tribe
Then walk off stately and prescribe,
When I consign to your quick sense
Th' appropriate med'cines to dispense,
To all the classes in your view, }
With gentle tone and caution due: }
See then how much depends on you. }
Each case that asks superior art
I send into a room apart;
And _there_ I never feel alarm;
I play no tricks and do no harm.
When I a desp'rate illness see,
For patients must not die with me,
I recommend them to repair
To goat's-milk and the country air;
And when such counsel they receive
They do not fail to take their leave,
Full of my candour and disdain
Of any little paltry gain.
Deep cuts, sore legs and gummy eyes,
With all the common casualties,
I with my healing dame bestow,
In her snug, secret cell below:
Indeed I've sometimes star'd to see
The wonders of her surgery.
--'Tis true 'mong doctors I'm not famous,
But still I'm not an _Ignoramus_;
For I can play a skillfull part
In elements of chymic art;
I give the drafts a varying hue,
To-day so red, to-morrow blue,
And touch them with a diff'rent savour,
To give a worse or better flavour,
As it may suit, then change their name, }
Though they may be the very same, }
Both in their object and their aim. }
"It is with me a leading fashion
To play thus with imagination;
A symptom that doth never cease,
Or more or less in all disease.
There are sly shifts in ev'ry trade,
Which money calls in to its aid:
But here I'd have it understood,
If when my practice does no good,
My conscience never has the qualm,
That I do any real harm.
Nor are my various cures unknown
As placards tell of my renown!
My nostrums oft my hopes fulfil,
Nor do I know they ever kill.
Those cases which I've cause to doubt,
And cannot find their symptoms out,
I never fail to leave to nature,
Who is a wonder-working creature:
And my chief cures which make a stir,--
I e'en must own I owe to her.--
--Such the great object of my care.--
Fear not, you will th' advantage share.
But know, when all my sick are here,
You as _Inferior_ must appear;
But business o'er and they are gone,
Then good QUÆ GENUS, we are one!"
At length the compact was agreed, }
And all things promis'd to succeed: }
Our Hero soon could cup and bleed; }
And, with a kind, officious grace,
The med'cine gave in time and place;
Nay, as occasion might afford,
Bitters improve with sweet'ning word:
He had acquir'd the art to please
With welcome flatt'ries such as these.
"_How stout your legs appear to-day!
I trust you have walk'd all the way!
And ere that our brief work is done,
We shall have taught you how to run!_"
"_O madam! how I must rejoice,
That you have lost your husky voice;
Soon I doubt not that I shall find
Your tones are of the sweetest kind_!"
"_And that fine face I griev'd to view
When cloth'd in such a pallid hue;
But I have seen, this passing week,
The colour coming on your cheek.
And if some ill does not oppose,
We soon shall see the tender rose:
And hope's a friend that will supply
The prospect which, I trust, is nigh_."
Now sometimes he would give a scope
To his propensity to joke.
For 'mid this pale-fac'd, grumbling mess
'Twere well to stir some chearfulness:
For if a parson chose to squeeze
A lady on her crummy knees,
(For here a little play and prate
Might cheer a sickly _tête-à-tête_)
His whisper might perchance declare,
"Doctor, her pulses are not there."
--At all events, things went on well,
As the pleas'd verse may freely tell;
And the young Doctor ne'er complain'd
Of what he by his office gain'd.
But here we now shall change our road
And slip into an _Episode_;
It is a common way we know,
In which much better poets go:
Though pride will not suggest that we
Can be accus'd of _poetry_;
Yet we must own that, in our time,
We have stirr'd up some reams of _Rhyme_.
Howe'er that be, we now must come
To steer our Hero's walks from home.
Among the few who sought the aid
Of ANODYNE'S more secret trade,
Was one who sent a written case
Which did his various symptoms trace:
Thus, when the Quack prepar'd the dose,
QUÆ GENUS took it snug and close:
He only knew the cordial sent,
To whom address'd, and where it went:
Besides it was his daily task
Questions of import grave to ask.
How was his pulse? How had he slept?
If tremors o'er the system crept?
With such enquiries as our verse
Might feel it awkward to rehearse.
Of that no more, the patient's name
Was _Woodlands_, known in rural fame:
Through early years, a sportsman he,
The flower of hunting chivalry;
Was rich, and as he well was able,
Saw jovial sportsmen round his table,
Drank hard and lov'd the evening glee,
With those who drank as hard as he.
But gout, with other ills came on,
And jovial life was pass'd and gone:
Health's active season now was o'er,
When he could hunt and feast no more.
He sold his hounds and took a wife,
To soothe the latter years of life;
But they were few, as we shall see,
In spite of care and Quackery.
She was a _Belle_ of rural fame,
Who gave her troth and bore his name:
Whate'er had been her hopes and views
When she did an old husband chuse,
The knowledge we do not profess,
But leave the gen'rous mind to guess.
At all events, her outward mien,
As it should be had always been,
Nor had a jealous eye suspected
Her duty had been e'er neglected.
But as infirm he now was grown, }
At her desire, he came to town }
To seek Physicians of renown. }
He first had one, he then had two,
But their prescriptions did not do;
When still her care prevail'd, and she
Another sought, so he had three;
And no more good seem'd to be done,
Than if he had been seen by none.
--Thus matters stood, nay he grew worse
When an old busy, chattering nurse,
Talk'd of the cures, almost divine,
Of our friend Doctor ANODYNE.
The drowning catch at any reed,
And all is help in desp'rate need:
Thus the rich man propos'd to try
The boasted aid of Quackery,
And what he wish'd, Amelia said,
With anxious smile, must be obey'd.
--Thus then it is, as we have seen,
QUÆ GENUS has the attendant been;
But now we are about to see
What a snug _Proteus_ he can be.
The Lady, to his great surprise,
Oft view'd him with enquiring eyes,
And did a kind attention show
Which he thought queer she should bestow,
But he soon found the matter out;
Madam herself clear'd up the doubt,
As, in her _Boudoir's_ still recess,
She did her quiet thoughts express.
In a soft, pleasant tone she spoke,
As half in earnest half in joke;
But as she thus her mind unveil'd,
It might be seen what thought prevail'd.
"There's something in your air and face }
That tells me you will not disgrace }
The trust which I now wish to place }
In your obedience to my will;
And if you do that trust fulfil,
If you act up to my intent,
QUÆ GENUS never shall repent."
--His fingers on his lips he press'd,
He clos'd his hands upon his breast;
With most submissive air he bow'd,
And secresy he swore and vow'd;
When Madam _Woodlands_ thus proceeded:
(I scarce need add that she succeeded.)
"You do a Doctor's business ply;
Now do not stare,--for so do I:
There is a pale-fac'd patient too
Whose certain cure I have in view,
And I've a med'cine that will prove
Specific,--as he's sick of love;
It will, in time, set all at ease,
And cure the pangs of his disease;
For no prescription can be better
Than that contain'd within this letter,
Which you, my friend, must understand
To give into the patient's hand.
Believe me too, when you are told,
You'll find it worth its weight in gold.
--There is," she said, "a smile I see
Now stealing on your gravity;
But know, QUÆ GENUS I do nought
That is with base dishonour fraught;
My whims, though secret, common-sense
Will clothe in garb of innocence."--
In short, but not without a fee,
He took the balmy recipe,
And ev'ry time he bore a letter
The patient's case was growing better.
Thus fortune kindly did bestow
Two strings to our keen Hero's bow;
And to his wishes, in good troth,
He reap'd no common gains from both.
--But here, another lucky hour
Did on his hopes new promise pour:
For Madam _Woodlands_ more than hinted,
If, in his present projects stinted,
He should no longer wish to shine
With Quackery and ANODYNE,
He might, by her all-fav'ring grace,
Attain her household's highest place.
He saw, and not by way of whim,
This was the very place for him;
But still he felt he could not quit,
As in a momentary fit,
That state he to the Doctor ow'd,
And which such benefit bestow'd;
Then, without proper warning, leave him,
Or with some scurvy tale deceive him,
He saw in any point of view
That honour prompts, it would not do.
Thus, in a state of constant doubt,
He scarce knew what he was about,
And to the daily patients gave
Their med'cines just as chance would have.
To all diseases waiting there }
He did not e'en appear to care }
What was the complaint or where, }
If it was fever or the gout;
But left each dose to find it out.
--Thus strange indeed, but it appear'd
The healing shop would soon be clear'd,
The patients calmly pass'd away; }
Nay, some of them were rather gay, }
And fees forsook th' impoverish'd day. }
When this change our QUÆ GENUS saw,
He thought awhile and felt an awe,
When it struck sudden on his sense,
That his so wicked negligence,
Had caus'd, perhaps, the final doom
Of many an inmate of the room;
But, on a fearful search, he found,
Not one of them was under ground,
Nay, that by giving med'cines wrong,
He did their precious lives prolong;
At least no harm they had endur'd,
For by his blund'ring they were cur'd.
Shrewd ANODYNE, of course, suspected
That his prime bus'ness was neglected;
Indeed he clearly understood
QUÆ GENUS did more harm than good,
And therefore, without much delay,
Hinted in a good-humour'd way,
"You're tir'd, my friend, as it appears,
(Of which I've sometime had my fears)
You're tir'd of the _Galenic Art_;
'Twere better, therefore, that we part."
QUÆ GENUS made a calm reply,
With acquiescing modesty:
Nor was a harsh, unpleasant word
From these dissolving Doctors, heard.
In truth, each party was good-hearted;
So they shook hands and thus they parted.
Our _Proteus_ now is seen to grace
Another and a favour'd place;
The confidential servant he
In 'Squire _Woodlands'_ family:
But the poor 'Squire was hast'ning fast
To that sad hour which prov'd his last;
For soon, alas, the fatal gout
Got in his head, and let life out;
When Madam made a quick retreat
From town to the fine country seat
Which now was her's, with all the rest
Of the great wealth which he possess'd.
What tears the widow'd Lady shed
In sorrow o'er her husband dead,
Whether as they her cheeks bedew'd,
They flow'd from grief or gratitude;
How calm or poignant was her woe,
We tell not, for we do not know.
Yet this we can with safety tell,
Because we surely know it well,
That through her husband's sickly life
She was a tender nurse and wife.
--But now another scene appears,
Dispers'd her grief, dried up her tears;
Rich as she was and still a beauty,
She look'd to change her line of duty;
'Twas Nature's act, as all will see
Who read her little history.
In earlier years, ere she was led
By Hymen to the marriage bed,
VALCOUR and she each other lov'd,
But their fond passion hopeless prov'd.
--She was high-bred with fortune small,
And his Commission was his all:
For though he was of ancient line }
And did with noble virtues shine, }
He was the youngest child of nine; }
And ere her marriage rites were o'er
He sought renown on India's shore.
What he thus bravely sought he found,
And once more trod on British ground,
With that, but little else beside,
A month before Old Woodlands died.
He let her hear that still he lov'd,
She wrote, nor said she disapprov'd;
That was the recipe to cure
The doubts his bosom might endure;
In which QUÆ GENUS was employ'd,
And caus'd the good he now enjoy'd.
--But then she acted with discretion;
As her fond husband's sole possession
She would not, at his last, allow
The promise of a future vow:
She felt her tender inclination,
As a reversionary passion
She must not own for him she lov'd,
Till Death each hindrance had remov'd.
For due decorum she obey'd,
And the sage widow's period stay'd;
Nor till Time pull'd the Hatchment down,
Did she her _Valcour's_ wishes crown:
But crown'd they were; a splendid show
Did Fortune on the rites bestow,
When Hymen call'd on Love to shower
Its roses o'er the nuptial bower.
QUÆ GENUS did the sports contrive
Which kept the country-folk alive,
And all the scatter'd bounties flow'd
As his disposing hand bestow'd,
Nor did one over-curious mind
Suspect that any lurk'd behind.
Nay, it was order'd to his care }
The gen'ral figure to prepare }
That was to blaze in Portman-Square. }
He, who had sometime form'd the plan
To set up for a _Gentleman_,
Well knew the purse alone could aid
The progress of that pretty trade,
And now had learn'd, quite at his ease,
To take the upper servant's fees,
Which to fulfil his growing aim,
In a resistless plenty came.
--VALCOUR was grand, his _Eastern Taste_
Was not dispos'd to run to waste;
Madam had never yet made known
Her beauty to th' admiring town,
And ready wealth was now at hand
Their mutual wishes to command:
Plutus with Fashion standing by }
Impatient languish'd to supply }
Each wish of glowing luxury. }
The tonish trade display'd its store
Where our QUÆ GENUS kept the door;
In various forms, a numerous host
All strove who should affect him most,
And by what tempting means engage,
His trusty, promis'd patronage.
[Illustration: _Drawn by Rowlandson_
QUÆ GENUS WITH A SPENDTHRIFT.]
Whene'er enquiry makes a stir
To trace the human character,
The strict and scrutinising eye
Must look for human frailty,
And will perceive as on we range,
Our dispositions prone to change,
Nor like the features of the face,
Fix'd on their first-born, native place.
So many tempting Sirens play
Their games to lead the heart astray,
So many gay temptations smile
The wav'ring prudence to beguile;
So many worldly interests wake
The pliant feelings to forsake
And wander from the beaten road
In which they hitherto have trod;
That reason from her judgement-seat
Must, with a tender rigour, treat
The venial errors of the mind,
And in severity be kind.
--Our Hero an example shews
To ask the candour we propose,
For he, we are compell'd to own,
Had given his thoughts a different tone.
As we have said, it was his plan
To be a _future Gentleman_,
And that he only could attain
By seizing all the means to gain
An added heap to that same store
Which luck'ly he possess'd before.
He, therefore, now had laid aside
Those scruples which his boasted pride
Maintain'd against the retail sense
Of the shrewd _Grocer's_ eloquence,
While, with Sir _Jeffery Gourmand_, he
Preserv'd such pure fidelity.
--And here it should not be forgot
That it was _Molly's_ happy lot,
By some keen plan which he had laid,
To be the Lady's fav'rite maid:
For _Molly_ he sincerely lov'd,
And was with gen'rous passion mov'd;
Nay, when his project he should carry,
He had engag'd the maid to marry:
Thus she was well prepar'd to join
In forwarding the main design;
Which as it may, perhaps, appear
From the surmises hinted here,
Was never, never to refuse
What custom offer'd as their dues,
And all the op'ning hand of chance
Might gather from extravagance.
How far this system may succeed
Will soon be seen by those who read.
This VALCOUR was a noble creature,
Splendid and gen'rous in his nature;
Nor had these feelings been decreas'd
By the profusion of the East,
Which he from well-earn'd station shar'd;
But honour was his chief reward.
He no amass'd Pagodas brought
Whence treasures are so often sought:
Yet he, the favour'd lot of few,
As they bright fortune's track pursue,
Though India gave him mod'rate store,
Found plenteous wealth on Britain's shore.
--Full many a well fought field he try'd,
And MARS beheld his course with pride,
Nay bade the wreath of triumph glow
The Hero's pride, upon his brow,
While Knighthood's pointed star express'd
The tinsel glitter on his breast.
But VENUS, who such things disposes
Chang'd all the laurel into roses;
And HYMEN did his state enfold
In saffron mantle, rich with gold.
As Nature in its fancies varies,
Sir CHARLES indulg'd in his vagaries,
With a wild love of shew and figure;
Yet still he was resolv'd with rigour,
A line of prudence to pursue
And keep discretion in his view.
Full droll indeed it may appear
But thus he chose to persevere:
Not to run out was all that he
Consider'd as oeconomy;
If his rents answer'd what he spent
He'd bless his stars and be content;
But never did his views appear
To look upon the coming year.
Nor e'er did he his mind distress
To know if he could live on less:
Nay at the thought how he would laugh,
When told that he could live on half,
And felt affront, if 'twere repeated
That by his servants he was cheated.
--Such a receipt to pamper ruin
Nay to hurry an undoing,
Has seldom given so queer a chance
To gratify extravagance.
--But so it was--QUÆ GENUS thought
Just as the rising fancy taught:
While, in mock fashion's borrow'd pride,
MOLLY was seated by his side.
Now as her needle made its way
Some 'broider'd figure to display,
Thinking, perhaps, how well her art
Gave semblance to a two-fold heart;
He fondly call'd her willing ear
With all attention due to hear.
QUÆ GENUS.
"Plac'd as we are, it seems to be
The height of that prosperity
Which such as we can e'er enjoy;
And it becomes us to employ
The means it offers to possess
Our views of future happiness.
I doubt not, MOLLY, but you feel,
For your sweet lady, all the zeal,
Which flows alike from due regard
As the just hope of due reward:
But still, I think, it must appear
That we've a doubtful course to steer;
How we may keep within the line, }
Our great folks' interest to combine }
With what we know is yours and mine. }
They are with generous grace endued,
To us how kind they are and good.
But life with them is nought but pleasure;
Luxurious show fills up the measure
Of all their hours, as they run on
Through each meander of the Ton.
They sometimes talk of prudent schemes,
And reason's language veils the dreams;
But the incessant love of change
Invites the unreflecting range
'Neath ev'ry dome where pride resorts
And fashion holds her motley courts;
Though while they for their pleasures roam
We too well know their cost at home.
This proud parade can never last,
Their ready wealth will soon be past.
--Nay, when I bring the month's account,
And silent point to the amount;
He tells my Lady what I've done,
And she exclaims, ''tis precious fun!--
We need not for our ruin fear
With such a careful guardian near!'
When I point out the triple charge
In many a bill display'd at large,
She says, 'QUÆ GENUS, do not grieve,
Tradesmen, my honest friend, must live!
Nay, when from service you retire,
And sit all plodding by your fire
In thought what profits should repay
The labours of the closing day;--
When o'er some door we see your name, }
A dealer of great retail fame, }
You have our leave to do the same.' }
"I made my bow and answer'd nought,
But then I paid it off in thought;
And, as their gen'rous leave they give,
Like others to play tricks and live,
I may begin, perhaps, before
My name is painted on the door;
And, in good time, my fortune try
With that same prosp'ring honesty.
--I tell you, MOLLY, 'tis as clear
As we, dear girl, are sitting here,
That our great folks were both created
So rich, please fortune, to be cheated.
And we must aid them, as you see,
Thus to fulfil their destiny.
For trifles we'll not make a fuss,
They will not be the worse for us:
If we do not our pockets fill,
Others there are who quickly will,
But not by any paltry gains,
As pilfering of _Sovereigns_.
You must not crib a handsome shawl
And say 'twas lost at such a ball;
Nor will you in some corner place
A card or roll of costly lace,
That when you think she has forgot it,
You to your own use may allot it:--
Nor, when she gives a thrice-worn dress
Your vanity and wish to bless,
Do not within its wide folds smother,
As if by chance, just such another,
As she'd not miss it 'mid such plenty
A wardrobe of full five-and-twenty,
While others, 'mid the toilet's din
Are almost daily pouring in.
Can we such means as these pursue?--
Would it be just in me and you:
Though I guess by your waggish smile,
What you are thinking of the while.
But still I feel it is not right
That you should lose your perquisite;
Nor do I, my dear girl, incline
E'er to forego the claim to mine,
And tempting opportunity
May tell us what those claims should be,
As 'tis our right to seize the chance
That's furnish'd by extravagance,
When call'd upon to prove our taste
In saving what would run to waste;
For rumpled fin'ry, all thrown by,
Is safer in our custody.
--When t'other day the Knight bespoke
A new great-coat and Hussar cloak;
'Sure, Sir,' I said, 'you have forgot
Of these same coverings what a lot,
Neither be-spotted, scratch'd or torn
And some of them have scarce been worn,
Which are all hanging in the hall:'--
'They're old,' he said, 'so take them all.'
--I bow'd and took them to my keeping;
Snug in my wardrobe they are sleeping.
It is the same, I know it well,
You of your Lady have to tell:
I doubt not but your hoard encreases
Of Spencers, mantles and pelisses:
But let it be our mutual boast
That sage precaution rules the roast;
And take care that we never deal in
Any thing that looks like stealing.
My books are fair, accounts are right,
In them my honour's sound and tight:
Valet I am and Butler both,
A rare advantage to our cloth,
And there's no day, nay scarce an hour
But tempting profits court my power,
Yet may dread _Heaven_ above forsake me,
And _Old Nick_ in his fury take me,
If I the pilf'ring track pursue
Which hireling knaves so often do.
When from the shopmen we receive
The somethings they are us'd to give
As their long, bouncing bills are paid,
'Tis not our Knight is tax'd, but trade,
Though should we not our poundage claim
_Sum Totals_ would be just the same.
--E'en when, as if a boon, I crave
Some superfluity to save,
Perhaps he'll tell me I'm a fool,
Or threat to floor me with a stool.
--Last week, he said, 'at our next fête,
(Mind what I say and hold your prate)
Let the desert in splendour shine
With gay plateaus and many a pine.'
When as, to check the cost's encrease,
I hinted what they were a piece,
He ranted, 'if there are not _five_,
Thou slave, I'll cut you up alive.
Dare you look piteous? for then
You scurvy clown, I'll order _ten_.'
"These gay delusions cannot last,
The spendthrift scene will soon be past;
And, in another year or two
You'll see that what I say is true.
When Banker's checks, that easy pay
Like fancy's ghosts have pass'd away,
When the whole funded wealth is sold
Another story will be told;
When all the ready cash is flown,
The country-rents will change their tone,
Nor will the half-grown oaks supply
The means for one year's luxury.
Crabbed Entail will rise beside }
And dare the acres to provide }
The power to feed their needy pride, }
And Mortgage-deeds in vain will strive
To keep the piteous show alive.
While thus the vain folk whom we serve,
Do from each point of prudence swerve,
While thus they waste in such a way,
To Luxury the willing prey,
I know, my girl, what I've to do,
And faith, shall leave the rest to you!"
MOLLY.
"My dearest friend, you are so clever,
That I could hear you talk for ever.
Let not QUÆ GENUS be afraid,
He ne'er shall want my ready aid;
For surely to his heart 'tis known, }
His ev'ry interest is my own, }
At least I feel that we are one. }
O yes, I comprehend him well!"
But now she heard her Lady's bell,
A summons that must be attended,--
So here the conversation ended.
Thus VALCOUR and his brilliant dame
Attain'd their folly's highest aim,
To scale the ladder of the Ton
As many wealthy fools have done,
And laugh, if they should hear the call,
"Your foot may slip and you may fall."
They did in every thing agree,
With the same eye each object see.
"Whate'er you fancy must appear
So very right my dearest dear!--
And whatsoe'er you do approve,
Cannot be wrong, my sweetest love!"
--Such was their billing and their cooing,
As they were hast'ning on to ruin;
Nor did they see that _Fashion_ laugh'd,
While she their costly nectar quaff'd;
Or 'mid the crowds that might attend
Their banquets, they had not a friend.
But such too often is the case
Where Folly takes the highest place;
And upstart fortune fain would be
The ape of rank and family.
There vulgar wealth pays dear for places
With Lordships, Ladyships and Graces,
Who at its table may appear }
Or once or twice or thrice a year, }
When luxury does the feast prepare; }
And yet their host but coldly greet,
If they should meet him in the street.
--But true or not, howe'er that be,
In this career of vanity,
Winter's fine pleasures pass'd away
And Summer made the country gay,
While fashion now set out to grace
The Country seat and Wat'ring place,
VALCOUR and MADAME now were seen
Parading on the Brighton Stein,
But where, though envied and admir'd,
With the same scenes they soon were tir'd:
Besides 'twas decent to retreat
And give life to their ancient seat.
Thus while th' astonish'd Natives stare
_Woodlands_ receiv'd the tonish pair;
While they the rural 'Squires surprise }
With splendid hospitalities; }
And even here the money flies. }
The Knight when sporting in the East,
Was wont to hunt the brindled beast,
Or the long, pointed jav'lin plant
From castled back of elephant,
In the fierce tiger's spotted side,
And gloried when the savage died:
He therefore would not deign to share
The conquest o'er a tim'rous hare;
Nor push on in a break-neck pace
Through all his wiles the fox to chace.
But when the sportsmen left their game,
And weary to his mansion came,
Which they were always glad to do,
Whene'er that mansion was in view,
QUÆ GENUS heard the orders gay
To be fulfill'd without delay,
As the loud and welcome brawl
Re-echoed through the lofty hall,--
"Prepare, that my good friends may dine,
The turkey and the smoking chine,
The pasty and whate'er is best
To furnish out an instant feast!
Be sure 'tis your attentive task, }
To give them all that they may ask, }
The bowl, the tankard and the flask;" }
But then the Knight in whispers hinted,
"When you perceive my time is stinted,
And both my deafen'd ears no more
Can bear the Bacchanalian roar;
When it appears the stupid asses
Scarce know the bottles from the glasses,
Nor can perceive, 'mid boosing laughter,
That I am only sipping water;
When I shall unperceiv'd retire, }
Remember it is my desire, }
_They do not set the house on fire_." }
--Thus, when o'erwhelm'd with sporting guest,
Sir CHARLES his constant wish express'd,
And, after many a vain essay,
Contriv'd at last to steal away,
With something like an aching head,
To seek the refuge of his bed.
[Illustration: _Drawn by Rowlandson_
QUÆ GENUS ATTENDS ON A SPORTING FINALE.]
In drunken freaks QUÆ GENUS knew
Sense was oft gone and feeling too;
That legs might tables overturn,
And fallen lights would flare and burn;
Nay, flaming mischief might attend
On lighted snuff and candle's end.
Thus to be safe, without delay
The threat'ning lights he bore away,
And, to avoid a falling spark,
Left parties snoring in the dark.
Thus stretching as their limbs were able,
On chair, on floor or on table,
QUÆ GENUS did not own a fear
That there was any danger near,
So left them till the day should break
And fev'rish nature bid them wake;
When, yawning round the sporting closet,
Some groom brought in their morning posset;
And, hobbling off as they were able
To mount their horses at the stable,
They left the Knight their humble thanks,
Hop'd Madam would excuse their pranks,
And sought their homes, perhaps, to hear
A wife talk loud in either ear.
Such were the jovial sportsmen's meetings
And these their hospitable greetings;
But rural dames who were received
With kindness while old _Woodlands_ liv'd,
As they found such an alter'd state
Ne'er enter'd twice the mansion gate:
The 'Squires' wives would ne'er resort
To one so chang'd to pay their court;
And, though she was with title crown'd,
The proud acquaintance they disown'd.
Brimful of town conceits and folly,
My Lady now grew melancholy;
And when the sporting season came
Her daily looks were not the same:
That time of noisy, jovial joy,
Did ev'ry lively sense annoy,
Nor would she any reas'ning hear.--
"To Town we'll haste away, My Dear!
Let us be gone without delay:
To London let us haste away!
These rooms where staring figures sprawl
In ancient hangings on the wall,
Nay, where at noon, the shaded light
Gives dimness of approaching night,
Which nought can chearful make and gay,
Or give the semblance bright of day,
But that well-dress'd, high-minded glee
That here, alas, we never see,
Which could alone from this dull room,
Snatch the grim likeness of a tomb!
Let us be gone without delay,
To London let us haste away!"
--She gave a piteous look and sigh'd,
When, with soft grace, Sir CHARLES replied.
"As such is your desire, My Love,
To Town we quickly will remove;
If it will soothe my charmer's sorrow,
We will set out for Town to-morrow.
But have you thought, my dearest Dear,
That not a creature will be there?
Will you not find we shall be hurl'd
Into a lifeless, empty world;
Where, till the winter near approaches
You will see nought but Hackney coaches?
I'm sure you'll think yourself quite undone,
If you're a month alone in London.
To your gay spirit Oh how dull
On a soft window-seat to loll,
And count with your half-sleeping eye
How many _Nobodies_ go by!
While mothers with their babies tell,
What sick'ning stuff they have to sell,
When from their ceaseless screaming noises,
You ask for what Heaven gave them voices:
Till like the fiddler in a rage,
Which you have seen in Hogarth's page,
You stop your ears, with anger burn,
And cry 'to _Woodlands_, let's return.'
I'd rather sit and yawn, I own,
Here in the country than in town,
Where to dull club-rooms I must go, }
E'en in the streets no creature know, }
And ride alone in Rotten-Row. }
But be it as you wish."--"Then I,"
The Dame delay'd not to reply,
"Desire such orders you will give
That we, with prompt dispatch, may leave
This stupid spot and hurry strait
With post horse gallop through the gate,
And when we've got a dozen mile,
I then will thank you, Love, and smile.
Yes, I will bid adieu to care, }
Though not a soul in Portman-Square, }
When once I see that I am there. }
Believe me I would rather hear
As sounds more pleasing to my ear,
Fishwomen's cries along the street,
Than noisy sportsmen when they meet,
Whose noisy, vulgar, drunken brawl
So often echoed in our Hall.
The Town, perhaps, is not so full,
But London never can be dull:
Thin as it may be, or e'en thinner,
We shall find folk to eat our dinner,
And though no crowd will throng at present,
Our little parties will be pleasant.
The Drama too presents its play
To make the evening pass away;
Blue hills delight and lawns so green
When they are painted on the scene;
O how I like the woods and rocks
When I can view them from a box!--
I'm charm'd with such a rural sight
When it is seen by candle-light.
We shall to pass our time contrive,
And keep our pretty selves alive,
Till the world rolls to Town amain:--
Then we shall be ourselves again."
--They were themselves, and suffer'd pride
Still to remain their fatal guide,
And to bring on that period near,
When Folly claim'd its full arrear.
It is not needful for our rhyme
To tell how long or short the time
Which the vain Spendthrift Genius thought
Was fit to bring their schemes to nought.
All we shall say is, with the song,
"The days of pleasure ne'er are long."
And, if to proverbs we resort,
"The days of sorrow ne'er are short."
And here it is but truth to tell,
That our QUÆ GENUS acted well.
For never, as his duty call'd,
When home affairs were so enthrall'd,
That ere the Winter months would end
There would be no more coin to spend,
Nor credit found to give the swing
To gay manoeuvres through the Spring,
He did not from his master's ears
Conceal the state of his affairs;
And though, too oft receiv'd with scorn,
Gave hints, but still they fail'd to warn.
--At length, howe'er, the period came
From fashion's list to blot their name;
When it was vain for pride to look
In the card-rack or porter's book,
While the old guard might sit and snore,
But rarely summon'd to the door;
That door, of late, so seldom quiet
From lounging call or pleasure's riot,
Unless it, with less noisy stir,
Announc'd some threat'ning visiter.
--Encreasing wants began to press,
And all things threaten'd that distress
Which vanity knows not to bear, }
That pride contemplates with despair, }
Yet spurns regenerating care; }
And a pale demon seems to see
In form of sage oeconomy.
The scene thus drawing to a close, }
Friends, aye, and faithful ones arose, }
With their best aid to interpose, }
And VALCOUR found, when least expected,
That falling he was not neglected.
For he was lov'd by all who knew
The virtues whence his follies grew;
And some of these so active were
As to preserve him from the snare
Of Us'rer's gripe and Lawyer's strife,
That seem'd to threat his future life.
They did with counsel sage persuade
And brought the ready, golden aid,
Which check'd the powers that did enslave him,
Before it was too late to save him.
The well-weigh'd scheme which prudence chose
Was rather an unsav'ry dose:
Madam, at first, declar'd it treason;
But humbled pride was taught to reason.
Enough was spar'd to share the dance
And gay festivities of France;
With promise, when five years were o'er,
They should regain the British shore;
And, on repassing _Woodlands_ gate,
Would find a noble, freed estate;
And, from their follies past remov'd,
Reside respected and belov'd.
Now, all this serious bustle over,
They sought, and soon set sail from, Dover,
And, in the common period, found
Their footsteps meas'ring Gallic ground.
QUÆ GENUS saw them to the sea,
Then gave a look of sympathy,
And, with respectful rev'rence said,
"When you again Old England tread,
To re-enjoy my happy station
I will quit any situation,
And I dare boast you will receive me,
As true and faithful as you leave me!"
--To France he was not quite inclin'd,
And MOLLY chose to stay behind;
So both brush'd up their sep'rate graces,
To go in search of _other places_.--
For, 'twas not yet our Hero's plan
To set up for a GENTLEMAN.