The History of Johnny Quae Genus Part 17

[Ill.u.s.tration: _Drawn by Rowlandson_

QUae GENUS engaged with jovial Friends: Or ... Who sings best?]

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 compa.s.s 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 pa.s.s 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 p.r.o.ne to trace Those sc.r.a.pes 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 pa.s.s'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 c.o.xcomb 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 mult.i.tude, Who, like the insects of a day, Make a short buzz and pa.s.s 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 st.u.r.dy 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 sc.r.a.pe, 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 a.s.sistance 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 hoa.r.s.e chuckle--she with laughing.

[Ill.u.s.tration: _Drawn by Rowlandson_

THE PARTY BREAKING UP, AND QUae GENUS BREAKING DOWN.]

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 pa.s.sions 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.

[Ill.u.s.tration: _Drawn by Rowlandson_

QUae GENUS turned out of a house which he mistakes for his own.]

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 h.o.a.rd, } 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 sc.r.a.pes 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 a.s.sail'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 sc.r.a.pe the relics of his h.o.a.rd, 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 pa.s.sing 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, rehea.r.s.e, 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 pa.s.s, 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.----"

[Ill.u.s.tration: _Drawn by Rowlandson_

QUae GENUS & CREDITORS.]

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 gla.s.s, The settling hour was seen to pa.s.s, 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 pa.s.sage 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 pa.s.sing 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 Advertis.e.m.e.nt 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,-- } QUae GENUS is _Himself again_!" }

But here it may become the verse, The Placard's purpose to rehea.r.s.e,

This ADVERTIs.e.m.e.nT 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 } a.s.surance that He still doth live, } The above reward will then receive. } QUae 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. .h.i.therto 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.