CANTO VIII

Life, as a witty Bard has shewn, Who dealt in just comparison,[1] Is but a busy pantomime, Whose actions vary with the time; Where they who turn from side to side, According to the wind and tide, Are more ingenious in their art Than such as act but one grave part; Who, as their years pass onward, seem To glide along one gentle stream. But here we stop not to contend Whether, to answer Life's great end, 'Tis best from place to place to range, Or fix to one, and never change. Suffice it, that, from choice or chance, QUÆ GENUS hurried through some dance Of early life, and, as we see, Not knowing what the next would be: But now, disdaining future tricks, He felt a firm resolve to fix Upon a steady, better plan, Of living like a _Gentleman_. Whether he knew to calculate The means required for such a state, The curious eye will shortly see, In his approaching History.

[1] BUTLER, the Author of HUDIBRAS.

It has been well observ'd by some, "All countries are a wise man's home." As it is said of diff'rent nations, The same is true of various stations Which man is destin'd to fulfil, Or with, or e'en against his will; If Reason happens to provide A steersman who is fit to guide The vessel o'er life's flowing main, And sure at last the port to gain.

How much our Hero had amass'd, By ways and means now gone and pass'd, We know not, as we never heard The hoarded sums he had prepar'd; But as he had a sense of craving, And with it, too, a knack of saving, He must have got a heap of Cash, Which, for a time, would make a dash. The _Valcour_ wardrobe almost new, } The gifts of service, laid _perdu_, } Would serve him for a year or two; } And by some _Snip's_ contriving art, Would fit him well and make him smart: But stumbling-blocks were found to lay Before him, and impede his way. Manners and matter he possest, His early life had given the best; And while he as a servant mov'd, His knowledge of the world improv'd: But still his face and form were known In certain quarters of the town, And the first object to his fame Was to discard his present name; For he ne'er did a Father know, The source from whence a name should flow; And by QUÆ GENUS nought was meant-- It was a boon by accident, Which he might, if he pleas'd, disuse, And any other title chuse. Through the _Directory_ he waded, Till his poor eyes were sadly jaded; Then in the finer streets he stroll'd Where Names on _Door Plates_ are enroll'd: But then he fear'd a name to own, Which would, perhaps, be too well known, And cause enquiries, that might be The source of some perplexity. Reason, at length, rous'd the intention Of yielding to his own invention, To eke out from the alphabet, A name he never heard of yet; And which his fancy might suggest As one to suit his project best. FREE-BORN he thought would do as well As any other he could tell, When, his right Christian name of JOHN Form'd the becoming union; Then nothing more he could desire Than trim these names with an ESQUIRE; And to let the report be spread, That some rich relative was dead, And 'twas his Fortune and his Fate To get the name and an estate. Should it be ask'd where _that_ might lay, He had prepar'd himself to say, (As if half earnest--half in joke, The smiling answer might be spoke,) "'Tis here, 'tis there, 'tis everywhere, Or in some country in the air; But should you come to _number three_ In such a street, you there will see How that estate appears to thrive: On _Thursday_ next I dine at _five_." Thus he would find none to suspect him, Or, dinners given, to neglect him.

He now to Coffee Houses went, With looks assuming calm content, And such as those are seen to wear, Who easy independence share. At reading-rooms he frequent sat, And read or join'd in social chat; Acquaintance made, no arduous task, Of those he did to dinner ask. In gay apartments then he shone In a good quarter of the town, But distant, as we may conceive, From where his masters us'd to live.

_Miss Emily_, the blooming niece } Of the old Broker, Master _Squeeze_, } Who made some figure in the piece, } And, at no very distant page, Was seen to figure on the stage; The Lady all her points had carried, Was rich, and had the _Pleader_ married; Had chang'd her uncle's name of _Squeeze'em_ To her shrewd husband's, Lawyer _Seize'em_: Who, by his cunning and his skill, Had brought all contests to her will, When he had got his promis'd fee Of Beauty, Wealth and Luxury. To her, with smiles of gay content, The _'Squire_ his eager footsteps bent, And did in lofty tone proclaim His change of fortune as of name; And told her it would be his pride, At a small Fête would she preside, Which he propos'd in style to give, Where he would all her friends receive; For this was now the only way He had to make his party gay: And the first flourish of his plan To figure as a _Gentleman_. --She smil'd and said she'd bring him plenty, Then ask'd at once his cards for twenty. --The fête was given,--the dance, the song, And feasting did the night prolong, Which pleasure gave to full two score, Whom he had never seen before;-- But, his great object to maintain, These he must strive to see again; At all their doors his cards present, And thus, by various compliment, To form a circle of such friends As would secure his serious ends, In social ease to pass the day, And often find an evening gay. --But _'Squire Free-born_ quickly found He did not tread on solid ground, And 'gan to fear he should not see The way to that society, Which forms of life the happiest measure: By mutual interchange of pleasure. --'Twas but slight chat if he should meet His new acquaintance in the street; He seldom found, or more or less, But gen'ral forms of _politesse_, And that, too often, at the best, Was but in flimsy style exprest. --Ladies would ask him to the play, To take his arm and let him pay; And when to cards, he always lost More than the wine and biscuits cost. He found, as yet, but little done-- 'Twas neither common sense nor fun, Where kind regard would ne'er encrease, And int'rest wak'd the wish to please; Where words were either cold or hearty, As he propos'd to give a party; And a good supper was the charm That did to transient friendship warm, For that, alas, no longer lasted, Than while they thought on what they tasted.

_'Squire Free-born_ soon began to feel A relaxation in his zeal To push away that class among Who did his evening parties throng, From whom no fair return was made, And mod'rate fashion was display'd. Manners were ap'd, but in a way That did vulgarity betray; And the best show that he might see, Was dash of awkward finery:-- Besides, a rude and rough event Gave spirit to his discontent. --He call'd, one day, where, on admission, The parties were in sad condition; It was a scene of mutual flame, 'Tween _Start-up_ and his lovely dame. He was a clerk on public duty, And she a most conceited beauty: When, as he enter'd, her sharp tongue Began in tones both harsh and strong,-- "_Pray, FREE-BORN, do you think it breeding, That he should thus be always reading?_ _When he does from his office come 'Tis thus he sits hum-drum at home, As if he thought so low my wit I'm not for conversation fit; Nor does he seem to rate me higher Than to trace figures in the fire!" --"Call you, hum-drum, that information So suited to official station_," He sternly said, "_which now engages Attention to these curious pages_!" --"_My mind_," she cried, "_was in the dark When I was married to a Clerk:-- O had I join'd a fool instead Of one to office breeding bred! He, who in honour should protect me, You see, Sir, how he dares neglect me!_" --In terms polite to praise and blame, _Free-born_ now hop'd to quench the flame, And therefore offer'd, nothing loth, To give a little spice of both.

"Madam, by persons of discerning, My friend is known for store of learning; While you are bless'd with those rare charms, A Prince might wish to fill his arms." He gently smil'd and so did she, At this same two-fold flattery, Which, in a moment, seem'd to smother The flames of anger 'gainst each other: He therefore ventur'd to proceed, But did not now so well succeed. "You ask me to unfold my thought, Which is with truth and friendship fraught. We all well know, in life's great stake, There's such a Rule as _give and take_; A maxim, with your good in view, I recommend to both of you. On this, for peace, fix your reliance, And learn to practise kind compliance. If he is haughty, soothe his pride, Nor with disdainful glances chide. When you are angry, he must chase } All frownings from that lovely face, } With tender words and soft embrace. } Both of you now are in the wrong, _He_ with his BOOK,--_you_ with your TONGUE." But, ere he could his speech conclude, With scornful look and accents rude, Again the furious Dame began:-- "_What Impudence is in the Man! Thus, 'gainst his betters, to let loose His vulgar tongue in such abuse. My husband to be thus belied, Who is my love, my boast, my pride!_" When _Start-up_ foam'd,--"_You risk your life, In treating thus my darling wife; Who, I proclaim, as 'tis my duty, Has charms superior to her beauty!_" Then each gave each a warm embrace, And both star'd in poor _Free-born's_ face, The one as if _he_ wish'd to beat him, The other as if _she_ could have eat him. He then, as suiting her desire, Threw the base volume in the fire, When she----"_Thus ends a petty fuss Which may cross those who love like us; Though I might wish it had not been By such a saucy booby seen_." --_Free-born_, but not from sense of fear, Now thought it best to disappear; And as they rang the clam'rous bell, He heard them both the servant tell-- "Discharg'd you shall be, if the door Is open'd to that varlet more." --Such vulgar threat the _'Squire_ amus'd, For he no more would be refus'd By those whose silly actions prove That they could scold, and lie, and love: But still he rather felt the wrongs Which had proceeded from the tongues Of those who had no fair pretence At what he said to take offence: A pretty way to make amends For having treated them as friends; In short, he thought it best to fly His late acquir'd society: Pert Lawyers and such busy men As in some office wield the pen; Who, when their daily labour's done, Put their best coats and faces on; Leave home, where tallow dimly lights 'em, For wax, when some dull fool invites 'em, The plenteous evening to prolong In lively glee or tender song, Or in some funny tale to shine, And give a current to the wine. There, too, their wives and sisters flow, } Gay, scanty finery to show, } In gawdy trim and furbelow; } Who can, perhaps, the music play, And scream the carol of the day; Nay, work a waltz, while staring eyes Proclaim their gentle ecstasies. At length the shawls and wrappers come, When in their hacks they trundle home. --Though, after all, whate'er his aim, Whate'er his fancy chose to claim, 'Twas not amiss;--this _first degree_ In what is call'd society, Where step by step he must advance To higher place in fashion's dance: But with the folk, he 'gan to find, Who din'd with him, he never din'd, And got no more than casual tea For what his guests thought luxury; And, in a snug, familiar way, For all they gave, they made him pay. Besides, he sometimes felt offence, At what he thought impertinence: Such as they were, both great and small, He cut acquaintance with them all. His purse had thus indulg'd his whim, But they ne'er heard again from him.

He now suspected that his plan, Of turning to a _Gentleman_, Was not so easy to be brought To such success as he had thought. But still he ventur'd to turn over New plans by which he might discover Some means to realize his scheme, } But it, at times, began to seem } Somewhat, indeed, too like a dream. }

To thinking minds it is not strange That man is seen so soon to change, And, when he gets on random chace, To move so quick from place to place. If no fix'd principles he trust Which Reason says are true and just, The busy world will not restrain him, Nor in one beaten path maintain him. Now here, now there, he is as oft Seen to sink low as rise aloft. As he moves on, how he will vary From sober thought to gay vagary; Nay, seem the tempers to unite Of Dons 'bout whom historians write; The one whose name our laughter cheers, And he who pass'd his time in tears. What wonder then that we should see In _Free-born_, that variety, Which, in his disappointed mind, Nature may bid us look and find: Though he must guess profoundly well, Who could th' approaching change foretell.

He long since felt it as a folly To think again on _pretty Molly_, But when his project seem'd to fail, Her image did again prevail; And humbler views began to find A passage to his wav'ring mind. Instead of striving to pursue What he now fear'd would never do, He fancied that a tender wife Might give a charm to rural life. _Molly_ he fear'd not he could move To bless a home with married Love, And that a cottage might be found, With garden green and meadow ground; Where he might form his fragrant bowers, And deck the pretty lawn with flowers; Beneath a beech-tree read his book, } And sometimes angle in the brook: } Nay, even wield a shepherd's crook. } Money he had, and so had she, And, with a due economy, Far from the noisy world remov'd, And by each other fondly lov'd, They might pass on in plenteous ease, And lead a life of smiling peace. He slept, and, in a dream, he swore, } He saw his _Parent-Friend_, once more-- } Not looking as he did before, } But all so smirking, blithe and gay; When, sitting on a cock of hay, The prong and rake he seem'd to wield, As he were master of the field: He spoke not, but he seem'd to speak,-- "_This is the life, boy, you must seek_." --Such was another strong emotion To aid the new, romantic notion, And think of nought but Cottage Life, With pretty MOLLY for his Wife. He turn'd this over in his mind, And ev'ry hour felt more inclin'd To take the Maiden by surprize, And this fond dream to realize.

Sweet MOLLY now was gone from town As waiting-maid to _Lady Brown_, Who lives a portion of the year At her fine place in Devonshire; Nor did _fond Corydon_ delay To write his mind another day: While, to amuse th' impatient hours, He fill'd his room with shrubs and flowers: Branching _Geraniums_ were seen To make his ev'ry window green, And something like a picture wear Of future scenery he might share.

Our time does like our watches go Sometimes too fast,--sometimes too slow; But to the _'Squire_, for he was still A _'Squire_, though now against his will, Old _Bald-Pate_ mov'd with tardy tread, As if his feet were hung with lead; But he went on:--An answer came, Sign'd MOLLY, with no other name! He thought it odd, but did not wait To make it matter of debate, So quick his hurry to be shown The passion which the page would own. He read,--"_I've heard, bless Heav'n, my friend! } (With thanks for what you might intend,) } Your serving days are at an end: } Thus I believ'd, and find it true, I could no longer think of you. It seems to be your prosp'rous fate To come into a great estate; And so I thought it Heaven's decree, You ought no more to think of me. Besides, as you have never wrote, I fancied Molly was forgot; When soon a tender lover came, A learned man, of preaching fame; He press'd me,--I was not obdurate, And so, I'm married to a CURATE! The match my Lady much approv'd, And my good Husband's so belov'd, Our kind SIR JOHN has given his word That he shall shortly be preferr'd._

* * * * *

Poor _Corydon_ could read no more, } But, in a rage the letter tore, } And kick'd the fragments round the floor: } Toss'd some things up, and some things down, Curs'd both the _Country_ and the _Town_; With pots and pans did battle rage-- Drove the geraniums from the stage, And wish'd no object now to see _Of ruralized felicity_.

The country letter turn'd the tide To rush upon his wounded pride: At once he thought it more than folly Thus to have offer'd love to _Molly_. Nay, he began to smile at length; And, to regain becoming strength, He took to the well-known resort Of season'd dish and good _Old Port_: When as he sat, with uplift eyes, } And, thro' the window, view'd the skies, } He ventur'd to soliloquize. }

"My _genteel folk_ I have declin'd, At least, the sort which I could find; And just as much dispos'd to sneeze At all my _Rural Deities_: But still I've got a heap of _Cash_, And, while it lasts, will make a _Dash_! But here one firm resolve I make,-- _I never will my Elbow shake_; And if I take care not to _play_, } I shall get something for my pay: } It will not _all_ be thrown away! } Who knows what CUPID, too, may do? For I may _win_ if I should _woo_; And e'en, in spite of this same _Hump_, _Fortune_ may turn me up a trump. --My standard now shall be unfurl'd, And I will rush into the world: Nay, when I have the world enjoy'd, With emptied purse and spirits cloy'd, I then can trip it o'er the main: VALCOUR will take me back again; Once more his humble friend receive, With all the welcome he can give: We know not what from ill may screen us, And I, once more, shall be QUÆ GENUS." --He spoke, and seem'd to close his plan Of keeping up the _Gentleman_.

The Sun had sunk beneath the west, To go to bed and take his rest, As Poets feign, in THETIS lap, Where he ne'er fails to have a nap; When, with his second bottle rallied, Our Hero rose, and out he sallied In search of any lively fun, That he, perchance, might hit upon. --As through a court he chanc'd to pass, He saw a gay, well-figur'd lass, Who, in her floating fripp'ry shone, With all the trim of fashion on. She had descended from a coach, And did a certain door approach, With tripping step and eager haste, When soon th' illumin'd arch she pass'd: And still he saw, in height of feather, Small parties enter there together, While jovial gentlemen appear'd, Who, as they came, each other cheer'd. --He asked, where these fine Ladies went? The watchman said,--"For merriment; And should a little dancing fit you, A crown, your honour, will admit you." --The 'Squire then rapp'd, the door was op'd, He gave his coin, and in he popp'd: The music sounded in the hall, And smiling faces grac'd the ball, Where, as he lov'd a merry trip With some _gay Miss_ he chose to skip, But as they _Waltz'd_ it round in pairs A noise was heard upon the stairs, And strait a magistrate appear'd With solemn aspect; while, uprear'd, Official staves in order stand, To wait the laws' so rude command. --Sad hurry and confusion wait On this their unexpected state; When there broke forth, as it might seem, From snow-white throats, a fearful scream; Nor, to add horror, was there wanting Some strong appearances of fainting: But Justice, with its iron brow Unfeeling scowl'd on all the show. In shriller tones the ladies cried, In diff'rent key the beaux replied, Though some consoling bev'rage quaff, Give a smart twirl, nor fear to laugh: While coarser voices,--"hold your tongue, Pack up your alls and come along." Then, of fair culprits full a score, And of their dancing partners more, Beneath stern power's relentless rod, Were rang'd, and order'd off to QUOD. They march'd away in long procession To take the fruits of their transgression:-- Staffmen did at their head appear, And watchmen lighted up the rear. Our Hero felt the ridicule Of having idly play'd the fool, And, as he handed on his _Belle_, He could not but compare the smell That rotten root and trodden leaf Do to th' offended senses give Of those who, by the lamp's pale light, Through Covent-Garden stroll at night, With all the garlands which he weav'd Ere Molly's letter was receiv'd: And all the fragrance of the flowers He thought to cull in Molly's bowers; Nay, which, but the preceding morning, His promis'd hopes had been adorning. It was indeed a noisome change, O it was strange, 'twas passing strange! But still the watch-house made amends, Such as they were, they gave him friends. Which here, I'm not suppos'd to think Were such as save from ruin's brink; But lively sprites who have a taste To hurry on the stream to waste. Thus, when the welcome morn was come, And Justice sent the party home; He and two blades of certain feather Propos'd to pass the day together: The one, more grave, declar'd his breed, Famous on t'other side the _Tweed_, The other lively, brisk and airy, Boasted his birth in _Tipperary_; Though whether this were truly so, 'Tis from their words alone we know: But they were easy, free and jolly, Decided foes to melancholy, And seem'd well-form'd to aid a day In passing pleasantly away. --But first the TRIO thought it best To snatch some hours' refreshing rest, When, as it was in Summer's pride, } They pass'd their jovial hours beside } The crystal _Thames_ imperial tide; } And as the river roll'd along, Made the banks echo with their song. --At length it was a rival jest Who of the three could sing the best. --The sturdy Scot the song began, And thus th' harmonious contest ran.

WALLACE, who fought and bled, he sung, Whose name dwells on a nation's tongue. The 'SQUIRE, in boist'rous tone declar'd, And neither lungs nor quavering spar'd, That Britain triumph'd o'er the waves And Britons never would be slaves. Then ERIN'S SON, with sweeter voice, Exclaim'd, "I'll make you both rejoice; O with a famous song I'll treat you, And then you both shall say I've beat you Your verses are old-fashion'd prosing, My song is of my own composing; And though 'tis to lov'd ERIN'S fame, To all three Kingdoms 'tis the same." The hearers both politely bow'd, } When he, of his fam'd subject proud, } Pour'd forth his accents deep and loud. }

SONG.

It has long been agreed by all persons of learning Who in stories of old have a ready discerning, That in every country which travellers paint, There has always been found a protector or saint. Derry down, etc.

St. George for Old England, with target and lance, St. Andrew for Scotland, St. Denis for France, St. David o'er Wales, so long known to preside, And St. Patrick, Hibernia's patron and pride. Derry down, etc.

He was gallant and brave as a saint ought to be, For St. George was not braver or better than he, He would drink and would sing and would rattle like thunder, Though 'twas said, he was, now and then given to blunder. Derry down, etc.

But the jests of his friends he took in good part, For his blunders were nought but th' excess of his heart; Though there was but one blunder he ever would own, And that was when he saw all the claret was gone. Derry down, etc.

He'd fight for his country's religion and laws, And when beauty was injur'd he took up the cause, For the gallant St. Patrick, as ev'ry one knows, Was fond of a pretty girl under the rose. Derry down, etc

So many his virtues, it would be too long To rehearse them at once in a ballad or song; Then with laughter and mirth let us hallow his shrine, And drown all his Bulls in a bumper of wine. Derry down, etc.

Then St. _Patrick_, St. _George_ and St. _Andrew_ shall be The Protectors of Kingdoms so brave and so free: Thus in vain will the thunders of _Denis_ be hurl'd, For our _Trio of Saints_ shall give laws to the world. Derry down, etc.

Hard went the hands upon the board, And ERIN'S praises were _encor'd_.

Thus when the pleasant song was heard, HIBERNIA'S minstrel was preferr'd; Nor from the voice or in the eye Was there a hint of jealousy: Nay, while they took their parting glass, These sentiments were heard to pass. "The Thistle, Shamrock and the Rose May challenge all the world at blows: _English_ and _Irish_ names are known,-- There's _Marlborough_ and _Wellington_; And O, what men of glorious name Do _Scotia's_ annals give to Fame!"

With friends like these the 'Squire began His new career, and thus it ran, With others whom he chanc'd to light on In trips to _Tunbridge_ or to _Brighton_, SWELLS at most public places known And as gay triflers 'bout the town; Who might, perhaps, at times resort To _Billiard-rooms_ or _Tennis-court_, Where lively grace, and easy skill Might flatter Fortune to their will. _Freeborn_ these gay companions sought, Who soon their brisk disciple taught How to direct his lively course By the snug compass in his purse; In short, who tutor'd his quick sense } In the gay world to make pretence } By modest, well-dress'd impudence. } --Ye _Dandies_, _Bucks_ or by what name _Bond Street_ re-echoes with your fame; Whether in _Dennet_, _Gig_ or _Tandem_, In five-cap'd coats you bang at random, With such nice skill that you may break Your own, or _Dulcinea's_ neck: Or, when lock'd arm in arm you meet, From the plain causeway to the street, Drive Ladies in their morning walk, While you enjoy your lounging talk: Then saunter off to pass your hours In roving through those gaudy bowers Where purchas'd pleasure seems design'd To occupy the thoughtless mind: And, having idled through the day, } To quicken dull night's weary way, } You seek the mask, the dance or play;-- } With you our Hero did contrive To keep himself and time alive; But now and then too prone to trace Those scrapes that border on disgrace, And threat the unreflecting plan Of the best would-be Gentleman! From such as these he was not free, } As we, I fear, shall shortly see, } In this so busy history. } --To him no social life was known, His home, his friends were through the town Who were seen wand'ring here and there, Caring for no one, no one's care; Prepared no pleasures to receive But coin could buy or chance might give; And would prove lively or were dull, As the silk purse was drain'd or full. For though deck'd out with all the art That Fashion's journeymen impart, They never pass'd the tonish wicket Of High-life, but by purchas'd ticket Obtain'd by the resistless bribe To Traitors of the livried tribe, Which, by some bold disguise to aid, Might help them through a masquerade; Or, with some sly, well-fram'd pretence And varnish'd o'er with impudence, A proud admittance might obtain With chance to be turn'd out again: Nor was the luckless _Freeborn_ spar'd, When he the saucy trial dar'd. --One night, the hour we need not tell, Into a trap the coxcomb fell. As through the streets he rattled on Lamps with inviting brilliance shone; The music's sound, the portal's din Told 'twas a joyous scene within: The second bottle of the night, Might have produced a double sight, And two-fold courage to pursue The splendid prospect in his view, He, therefore bade the Hack approach, And at the door present the coach; Then made a push, got through the hall, And quickly mingled with the ball. --Whether his face was too well known Among the dashers of the town, Who do not an admittance gain Among the more distinguish'd train, Whose social habits will exclude The mere street-trampling multitude, Who, like the insects of a day, Make a short buzz and pass away: Or whether the intruding sinner Eat as he seem'd to want a dinner; Or if it did his fancy suit To line his pocket with the fruit; Or if he let some signal fly, Not usual in such company, Or if his spirits were so loud As to alarm the polish'd crowd; Whatever was the Spell that bound him, Suspicion more than hover'd round him; For, he replied with silent stare, } As he was taken unaware, } When he was ask'd how he came there. } Nor did he show a visage bold When, in a whisper, he was told, But still with steady look express'd By the stern Master of the feast, If he wish'd not to play a farce To make his pretty figure scarce. --That such a part he might not play } Which menac'd e'en the least delay, } He thought it best to glide away; } And, to avoid the threat'ning rout, As he push'd in, he darted out.

A tonish Matron who ne'er fail'd Where she was ask'd and cards prevail'd, My Lady Dangle was her name, And 'twas the fancy of the dame Still to retain the antique plan At night to dance in a _Sedan Sedans_, so known the fair to coop, When clad in the expanding hoop, Snug chairs borne on by sturdy feet, Once seen in ev'ry courtly street; And one a most uncommon sight, Was waiting at the door to-night; Which, in all due array, was come, To bear my _Lady Dangle_ home. The Chairmen lifted up the top, When _Freeborn_, with a sprightly hop, And his cloak wrapp'd around his face, Made bold to seize the vacant place: The bearers, not intent to know, Whether it were a _Belle_ or _Beau_, Went on--a cheary footman bore A flambeau, blund'ring on before: While, ere the 'Squire, in this sad scrape, Had time to plan his next escape, A heap of Paviour's stones which lay Directly in the Chairmen's way, Gave them a fall upon the road, With their alarm'd, mistaken load. Each Watchman sprang his rousing rattle, But as no voices call'd for battle, They did the best without delay To set the party on their way: While the attendants on the chair, Half-blinded by the flambeau's glare, First rais'd their weighty forms and then Set the _Sedan_ upright again: Nor e'er attempted to explore The hapless head that burst the door. But such was _Freeborn's_ falling fate, Which such confusion did create Within the region of his brain, He did not know his home again: Nay, when the wearied Chairmen stopp'd, Into the house he stagg'ring popp'd; Then to and fro got up the stairs, And, straddling o'er opposing chairs, He star'd, but knew not he was come } To Lady Dangle's Drawing Room, } But wildly thought himself at home. } Then on a sofa threw his length, Thus to regain exhausted strength, And grunted, groan'd and drew his breath, As if it were the hour of death.

Sir David Dangle, whom the gout Had kept that night from going out, Was sitting in all sick-man's quiet, Nor dreaming of a scene of riot When, waken'd into wild amaze, He did on the strange vision gaze, While the bold reprobate intrusion Threw all the house into confusion. In rush'd domestics one and all, Who heard the bell's alarming call; While stamping crutch and roaring voice Encreas'd the Knight's awak'ning noise That he might quick assistance stir Against this unknown visiter. But while the household struggled hard To keep him still, and be his guard, Till he thought fit to lay before 'em The cause of all his indecorum; My Lady came to set all right And check the hurry of the night: She then, to soothe his rude alarms Clasp'd her dear Knight within her arms, Those arms which, for full forty years, As from tradition it appears, Had sometimes strok'd his chin and coax'd him, And now and then had soundly box'd him. "It is," she said, "some heated rake, Who has occasion'd the mistake. But loose your hands, I do protest, To be thus us'd, he's too well drest For though his face I do not know } He does some air of fashion show, } Playing his pranks incognito." } --"It may be so," the Knight replied, And then he shook his head and sigh'd: "I'm not a stranger to the game, When I was young, I did the same." --Beside Sir David, Madam sat: To charm his flurry with her chat Her tongue pour'd forth its ready store And talk'd the busy evening o'er; Their biscuits took and, nothing loth, Moisten'd them well with cordial broth; Thus, till bed call'd, enjoy'd their quaffing, He with hoarse chuckle--she with laughing.

As he his innocence had vow'd, Our Hero press'd his hands and bow'd, Nay look'd, with humble, downcast eye, The Mirror of Apology. Besides, he well knew how to bribe The service of the liv'ried tribe; So, without fear of ill to come, He was convey'd in safety home. --With the next noon his morning came, And serious thoughts began to claim Attention to the Life he past, And how much longer it might last: For the hard blow he had receiv'd, By the chair's fall, had so aggriev'd The Pericranium's tend'rest part That it requir'd a Surgeon's art, Who, to relieve the threat'ning pains Applied the leeches to his veins, He then with blistering proceeded, The strong Cathartic next succeeded, With light debarr'd to either eye, And undisturb'd tranquillity: Such was the system to restore His health to what it was before. Thus bound to silence and confin'd It was a period for the mind To yield to those reflecting powers Which flow from solitary hours.

'Tis said by one, no chattering dunce That changes seldom come at once; And to those changes we refer Which work in human character. Reason at once does not disown us, Nor instant folly seize upon us; It is by a progressive course That habit sinks from bad to worse, And thus the happier impulse moves By which the character improves: The struggle that controuls the will From ill to good, from good to ill, Is not a contest for the power That lasts but through a transient hour. Virtue's fine ardor does not yield But after many a well-fought field;-- Nor do the baser passions cool Till they despair to overule, By secret spell or Virtue's fire, The glowing of the heart's desire. Thus, as through pictur'd life we range, We see the varying landscape change, But, as the diff'rent scenes we view, If we have hearts we feel them too: And then, how charming is the sight When Virtue rises to its height And triumphs o'er the conquer'd foe That flaps its baffled wing below. What though such images as these May look to Eccentricities Beyond the reach of those whose claim Is shelter'd by a borrow'd name: Yet still our system may apply The force of its philosophy To ev'ry track of human life, Where the heart feels conflicting strife; In short, where 'tis the painful lot, And in what bosom is it not, To struggle in the certain feud Between the evil and the good, That in our mortal nature lies With all its known propensities: Nor shall we on our Hero trample As an inadequate example. He'll serve as well as brighter tools To give an edge to moral rules, And _Freeborn's_ frolics may prevail To give a spirit to the tale Which in its fashion and its feature Bears, as we trust, the stamp of nature. --Besides, it surely has appear'd, He was at first in virtue rear'd, Nor do we fear, however cross'd, His Virtue has been wholly lost: Nor will our kind and honest muse The hope, nay the belief refuse, That, after all his follies past, Much good may still remain at last Which might, with Reason's aid, at length, Be felt in more than former strength. How this may happen we shall see In our progressive history.

Thus he, for many a night and day, In strict, prescriptive silence lay, For he all talking was forbid No friends must visit, if they did, All Galen's efforts would be vain For the re-settling of his brain; And when acquaintance chanc'd to come It must be said, "He's not at home:" Nay, his kind friends, when it appear'd, That e'en his life was rather fear'd, And that his hospitable fare Might quickly vanish into air: Though as the knocker still was tied, They just ask'd if he liv'd or died. But other reasons soon prevail That made his vain pretensions fail To ask them now and then to dine, And prove their welcome by his wine. For when they left him others came, More constant in their wish and aim; Who, while the Doctor order'd pills, Would call, perhaps, to leave their bills; And sometimes in the way of trade Might ask the favour to be paid. These things, as he lay still in bed, Would sometimes tease his shaken head, And force him to consult his hoard, } To know what hopes that might afford } When he to health should be restor'd. } --That time arriv'd and he was free From offering another fee, But then he found more clumsy hands Ready to grasp enlarg'd demands. --In all the playgames he had sought He found, at last, as might be thought, In worst of scrapes he now was left, Our 'Squire, alas, was deep in debt, And which was worse, of the amount, He could not pay the full account: Nor were his drooping spirits cheer'd When ev'ry day a Dun appear'd. There were no frolics now to charm The mind from feeling the alarm, At thought so painful to endure Th' afflicting thought of being poor. But though Discretion oft had fail'd him, And Folly's Gim-crack schemes assail'd him Though his whole conduct might not bear The scrutinizing eye severe: Yet honour was not dispossest Of a snug corner in his breast, Which there an influence did maintain, And, call'd to speak, spoke not in vain; For he refus'd, at once, to hear What smiling Knaves pour'd in his ear, To scrape the relics of his hoard, Make a long skip and get abroad; Seize the first favourable wind, And laugh at those he left behind. --The counsel given, was given in vain; He met it with a just disdain, Bore with mild humour each sly sneer, And smil'd when Folly chose to jeer; Resolv'd to pay to his last groat, Though standing in his only coat. --'Twas thus he thought in temper cool, "I may be call'd vain, silly fool, And something more I might deserve, But I would dig or almost starve, Rather than in that concert join, Which sprightly vagabonds design." --Suspicion may be sometimes led To doubt the vows which, on the bed Of pain and sickness, may be made, } When, by a trait'rous world betray'd } Hope's future prospects sink and fade. } For when Contrition views the past, Because the passing day's o'ercast Yet does no more its place retain When smiling hours return again, 'Tis but an hypocritic art To mock the world and cheat the heart. But our sick Hero, as the verse Will, with unvarnish'd truth, rehearse, An eye of tearful sorrow threw } O'er some past years' reproachful view, } And trembling at the future too. } Thus, of some awkward fears possess'd, He held a council in his breast, And felt the way to be pursued Was now to do the best he could, And call on Justice to receive The only tribute he could give.

Thus, at once, honest and discreet, He call'd his Creditors to meet To hear proposals which he thought They would receive as just men ought: Nay, fancied, when he told his tale, That lib'ral notions would prevail; Nor could his gen'rous mind foresee The fruits of his integrity: For when he walk'd into the room He found th' invited guests were come, Who soon began in hideous measure, To play away their loud displeasure, Not unlike _Andrews_ at a fair Who to make gaping rustics stare, Expand their lanky, lanthern jaws That fire may issue from their maws. One darted forth revengeful looks, Another pointed to his books Wherein a charge was never made, } That did not honour to his trade; } And curs'd th' accounts which were not paid, } Nor fail'd to wish he could convey them, We'll not say where, who did not pay them. A _third_, as hard as he was able, Struck his huge fist upon the table. While, beastly names from many a tongue, Around the room resounding rung. As _Freeborn_ had not quite possest The hope that he should be carest, He rather look'd with down-cast eye, To win by his humility, And put on a repentant face As suited to the awkward place: Nay, his high spirits he prepar'd And call'd discretion for their guard In case, though it was not expected, Decorum should be quite neglected:-- But when the Butcher strok'd his sleeve, } Brandish'd his steel and call'd him thief, } Belching forth mutton, veal and beef; } When touch'd by such a market sample They join'd to follow his example; When stead of praise for honest doing } And the fair course he was pursuing } They loos'd their banter on his ruin; } His prudence then was thrown aside From sense of irritated pride, And, patient bearing quite exhausted, He thus the angry circle roasted.-- "You all in your abuse may shine, But know--_Abuse will never coin_! Remember you have had my trade, For some few years, and always paid; While for your charges you must own, I let them pass, nor cut them down, And Customers, such fools like me Are Prizes in your Lottery. Put but your loss and gain together, I should deserve your favour, rather Than this rude and unseemly treating, As if I gain'd my bread by cheating. You know, you set of thankless calves, You are well paid if paid by halves; And spite of knowing nods and blinking, I have been told, and can't help thinking, All that now may remain to pay The claims which bring me here to-day, A just Arithmetic would tell Will pay your honours very well! But I have done--nay, I shall burst If I say more----so do your worst.----"

He threw himself into a chair, While each at each began to stare; When, from a corner of the room, A milder voice appear'd to come, And, without prefatory art, Was heard opinions to impart Which as he spoke them, did not fail O'er the loud rancour to prevail.

"Gem'men,-- "I cannot but refuse My honest vote to your abuse; And had I thought it was your plan Thus to foul-mouth a _Gentleman_, (And such he is, I'll boldly say, By all he has propos'd to-day) I would have stay'd and minded home, Nor to this boist'rous Meeting come! You could not give a harder banging To one whose deeds had call'd for hanging. What I've to say there's no denying-- Nor will I please you now by lying. For no short time, you all can tell, We each charg'd high and he paid well; Nay, now that he is gone to pot He gives us all that he has got, And with a pittance is content To take him to the Continent: Nor by sly tricks does he deceive ye But gives you all that he can give you; And, if again of wealth possest, I doubt not but he'll pay the rest; Now he who does the best he can, I'm certain he's a _Gentleman_. For me, whate'er may be your will, I'll take his terms and trust him still; And my best judgement recommends The same right conduct to my friends." Much more the lib'ral tradesman said And still continued to persuade With arguments that bore the test From that known power call'd Interest, Which, by degrees, becalm'd the riot, And clos'd the scene in gen'ral quiet. Thus, grumb'ling o'er, with parting glass, The settling hour was seen to pass, And soon dismiss'd our _Freeborn_ home To meditate on times to come, _With the first pleasure man can know, Of doing what he ought to do_.

Whether it was his ready way, As we know not, we cannot say-- But as he saunter'd through a court, A passage of no small resort, Well known to Lawyer's daily tread, As to the _King's-Bench Walks_ it led, A Placard of no common size Compell'd the gaze of passing eyes: When, as he read, he saw it bore The well-known name he whilom bore, While there was forc'd upon his view The _Rev'rend_ DOCTOR SYNTAX too; Nay, as he thought, it seem'd to be A Brief of his own History: Nor was it sure an idle whim To think that it belong'd to him. The Advertisement did address, In all the pomp of printing press, Th' important loss which was sustain'd And the reward that might be gain'd By those who should the loss restore To those who did th' event deplore. Then o'er and o'er he read the paper That set his spirits in a caper; For when he trac'd the pedigree, He whisper'd to himself--"'_Tis_ ME." Nor do I from the hope refrain, } Nor do I think I boast in vain,-- } QUÆ GENUS is _Himself again_!" }

But here it may become the verse, The Placard's purpose to rehearse,

This ADVERTISEMENT courts regard To full FIVE HUNDRED POUNDS reward.

* * * * *

"_Upwards of TWENTY YEARS ago, Or more or less it may be so, Some one had ventur'd to expose In clean and decent swaddling clothes, An INFANT, laid before the door Mark'd number THREE in number FOUR, Of Chambers which distinction claim, And Paper Buildings is their name: Now any one who can but give } Assurance that He still doth live, } The above reward will then receive. } QUÆ GENUS is the Foundling's name, Which, if alive, he best can claim, For now at least it is not known That he can any other own. The kind_ Protector _of his_ Birth } _Was a Divine of highest worth-- } Who held preferment in the North_-- } _SYNTAX was his much-honour'd name, Nor is he now unknown to Fame. But time has long since laid his head On his last low and silent bed; And search has hitherto been vain, The Foundling's present state to gain. A Laundress now is still alive Who can some information give, And BETTY BROOM is the known name Of the communicating Dame To whose kind care deliver'd first, The Babe was given to be nurs'd. Th' exposure she can well display As if it were but yesterday, But further knowledge is requir'd And what events may have conspir'd To shape his Life--If he should live, 'Tis what this paper asks to give. Who has such tidings and will tell 'em, With all due proofs, to Mr. VELLUM, Or sent by Post to his abode, Near_ Shoreditch Church _in_ Hackney Road, _Will the remuneration prove That's fully stated as above._"

Again he read the paper o'er, Resolv'd its purport to explore, And strait to _Number_ THREE repairs When hobbling down the ancient stairs, He met the Matron whom he sought, And told his story as he ought, A rapid sketch--nor did it fail To be an interesting Tale: Which when she heard, against the wall The broom she held was seen to fall, And scarce her old arms could prevail To bear the burthen of her pail. Her glasses then she sought to place On the _Proboscis_ of her face; Not that a likeness she should see 'Tween riper years and infancy. But now her heart began to melt At _Recollections_ that she felt, And thus she wish'd to tell them o'er, As she had often done before. "What, though so many years are gone, And you to man's estate are grown, Since I, in all its infant charms, Dandled the Foundling in my arms, Were I but certain it was _you_, Yes I would hug--and kiss you too." --But though he vow'd and did exclaim He was the very--very same; And though he put forth ev'ry grace } With which his words could gild his face, } He could not gain a kind embrace; } Though twenty-five don't often sue To claim a kiss from sixty-two: But some suspicions had possess'd The avenues to _Betty's_ breast; For she liv'd where her open ear Was practis'd ev'ry day to hear Of art array'd in fairest guise And truth o'erthrown by artifice. Thus what could the old Matron do? She fear'd him false, and wish'd him true: Then turn'd him round, but look'd aghast, As at his back her eye she cast; When she thus spoke, and heav'd a sigh, "I hope it is not treachery! Before that door the child lay sprawling, And mov'd the Doctor with its squalling: But, before Heaven I can swear, It then was as a Cherub fair; Strait as a little arrow he, In perfect form and symmetry; And from its neck unto its rump, Believe me, he had no such hump As that, though hid with every care, Your injur'd form is seen to bear; And cannot but appear to be A natural deformity. How this change came of course you know,-- With the poor child it was not so;-- Prepare its Hist'ry to explain, Or you will visit here in vain. --My good young man, strive not to cheat, Nor think to profit by deceit: You have with knowing folk to do, Not to be foil'd by such as you. I own you tell a moving tale, But Facts alone will now prevail: You will be sifted up and down Till e'en your marrow-bones are known. --I've not another word to say; To _Master Vellum_ take your way, You'll find him at his snug abode Near _Shoreditch Church_, in _Hackney Road_: For, when the infant first was left, Of all parental care bereft, The Bookseller and I, between us, Had much to do with dear QUÆ GENUS: For to his shop I us'd to go 'Twas then in _Paternoster Row_, As he the money did supply For the poor Foundling's nursery. --O, if he finds your story true, } It will, indeed, be well for you! } I will then hug and kiss you too!" } He took his leave--she gave a blessing As good, perhaps, as her caressing.

In haste, and on his great intent To _Vellum_ He his footsteps bent; Who had long since left off the trade By which he had a fortune made: But why we do the old Man see A figure in this history, Becomes a duty to explain, Nor shall it be employ'd in vain: And now, as brief as can be told, We must the Mystery unfold; And, since so many years are o'er, Why it was not explain'd before. Though he who length of life has seen, Must have a cold observer been; Whose languid or incurious eye Has not the power to descry, On what a chain of odds and ends The course of Human Life depends.

But now we quit the beaten road And turn into an _Episode_, Nor fear the track, though we shall draw The picture of a _Man of Law_; For we have seldom had to do With one so gen'rous, just and true; So he was thought by grateful fame, And _Fairman_ was the good man's name. If in that long-suspected trade An honest fortune e'er was made 'Twas that he could in Honour boast As Justice always tax'd the cost. 'Twas his to bid Contention cease And make the Law a Friend to peace: He strove to silence rising feud, And all his practice led to good: By mildest means it was his aim To silence each opposing claim; To take Injustice by the brow And make it to right reason bow: Nay, where in courts he must contend, He saw no foe, and knew no friend. He fail'd not by his utmost power To wing with speed Law's ling'ring hour; A busy foe to dull delay, He spurr'd each process on its way; Nor were his words, by skill made pliant, Arrang'd to flatter any Client: Whene'er he claim'd his well-earn'd Fee, _Justice_ and _Law_ would answer--_Yea_. And when Oppression knit its brow And said, _proceed_,--He answer'd--_No_. --When summon'd to the great _Assize_, Held in the Court above the skies, He will not be afraid to hear The VERDICT which awaits him _there_. --Such was the Man who soon would own QUÆ GENUS as his darling Son.