I have no doubt, my friend, to venture; Into my service you shall enter, Your ills at present shall be o'er, _Miss-Fortune_ you shall serve no more.

At least, I say, while you contrive By your good deeds with me to live: I'll save you from your late disaster And change your mistress for a master.

I want no bowings, no grimaces, No blessings that I've chang'd your places.

--I now remind you to relate All that has been your various fate, Nay, all that you have ever known, Since time and freedom were your own.

--I tell you, _Johnny_, speak the truth; I know what follies wait on youth: I know where erring pa.s.sion leads, On what a slipp'ry ground it treads: I can remember that I fail'd When the gay, tempting world prevail'd; Nor shall I now the thought conceal, Which reason tells me to reveal.

What Heaven forgives should be forgiven By all who look with hope tow'rds Heaven: But I expect not faults alone, } I trust in what you may have done, } There may work out a little fun. } --If I guess right your lively eye } Was not exactly made to cry, } But sometimes call forth pleasantry; } Of diff'ring thoughts to ope the vein, Let pleasure forth or lessen pain.

But still do not your mischiefs hide, Throughout your tale, be truth your guide; Nor make _Miss-Fortune_ though she starves, Worse, by the bye, than she deserves, For after all her misdeeds past, The Dame may do you good at last.

--Deceive me, and you will offend, Deceive me, and you lose a friend: Try to deceive me and again You'll join _Miss-Fortune's_ pale-fac'd train.

Proceed then, and, without a fear, } Pour thy misdoings in my ear } And I will with indulgence hear. } I'll not discard you for the evil, Though you should prove a little devil, Though to your hump you should not fail, To add your horns and hoofs and tail; Though you should prove a bag of sin, And hump'd without be hump'd within, Here you shall have your home, your food; Kick at _Miss-Fortune_, and be good."

He spoke, then rang the shrill-ton'd bell, Which did its well-known message tell.-- A tray appear'd, and well prepar'd, Which _Johnny_ with _Sir Jeff'ry_ shar'd.

When, waving his beflannell'd hand, The knight thus utter'd his command.

"And now, thou little Imp of Sin, Without a compliment begin."

QUae GENUS.

"The Volume that now lies before ye, Tells you thus far, Sir, of my story; Which would be upon this occasion A work of supererogation; Though I shall beg leave to repeat, I'm not the new-born of the street; But as it never yet appear'd, At least, as I have ever heard, To such unknown, unfather'd heirs, I am a Foundling of _the stairs_, Without a mark upon the dress, By which there might be form'd a guess, Whether I should the offspring prove Of n.o.ble or of vulgar love; Whether thus left in Inn of Court Where Lawyers live of ev'ry sort; Love in a deep full-bottom clad, Gave me a grave black-letter'd dad, Who, if 'twere so, might not agree To have a child without a fee; And, therefore, would not plead my cause, But left me to the vagrant laws Of chance, who did not do amiss, But sued in _Forma Pauperis_, And, in a Court where Mercy reign'd, The little Foundling's cause was gain'd: SYNTAX was judge, and pity's power Sav'd me in that forsaken hour.

He with that truly Christian spirit, Which Heaven gave him to inherit, Fondly embrac'd me as his own; But ere three transient years were gone, I lost my friend, but found another, A father he, and she, a mother; For such at least they both have prov'd, And as their child the stranger lov'd.

O, rest her soul!--to her 'tis given To share his happy lot in Heaven.

I seem'd to be her utmost pride, And Johnny trotting by her side, Fill'd with delight her glancing eye In warm affection's sympathy.

This fond, this kind, this fost'ring friend Did to my ev'ry want attend; Her only fault, she rather spoil'd As he grew up, the darling child; But though her care was not confin'd Or to his body, or his mind, Though, with a fond parental view, She gave to both th' attention due, Ne'er would she her displeasure fix On his most wild, unlucky tricks.

So that at church he held grave airs, p.r.o.nounc'd Amen, and said his pray'rs, And on a Sunday evening read A sermon ere they went to bed, Throughout the week, he was quite free For mischief with impunity.

--If on the folk I squirted water, How she would shake her sides with laughter; If the long-rotten eggs were thrown At Mary, Sally, or at Joan; If any stinging stuff was put Into the hasty trav'ller's boot; If the sly movement of the heel Should overturn the spinning-wheel.

--If holly plac'd beside the rose Should wound the gay sheep-shearer's nose, Or 'neath the tail a thorn-bush p.r.i.c.king, Should set Dame Dobbins' mare a kicking, And overthrow the market load, While beans and peas o'erspread the road, If the poor injur'd made complaint To Madam of her wily saint, She would reply, 'pray cease your noise, These are the tricks of clever boys, It is my pleasant Johnny's fun, Tell me the damage, and have done.'

--When I became a rosy boy, My growth encreas'd her growing joy; But now such gamesome hours were o'er I play'd my childish tricks no more.

My little heart 'gan to beat high, And with heroic ardor try The tempting danger to pursue, And do what others could not do: I sought to climb the highest tree, Where none would dare to follow me, Or the gay sporting horse to ride, Which no school-fellow dare bestride.

My feats were sometimes rather scaring, But the Dame lov'd to see me daring; As by my running, leaping, walking, I us'd to set the parish talking, And, to the good old women's wonder, I fear'd not lightning nor thunder.

She thought, in future time, my name } By some achievement bold, might claim } A loud blast in the trump of fame. }

"When, as a youth, how great the charm To lean upon his willing arm, Or when she wish'd to take the air, To guide her poney in the chair; To fetch her book, to place her stool, Or bear the _laden ridicule:_ To chat, to laugh, to sing, to read, As whims or wishes might succeed: And I am proud to make it known Her ev'ry pleasure was my own; And all to please her I could do, Was joy, as it was duty too.

"Here now my better story ends-- So far, I trust, Sir, we are friends: But I could almost wish me dumb, When I must tell of what's to come."

_Sir Jeffery_, half-laughing, said, "_Johnny_, I pray, be not afraid, Whate'er your luckless wit has done, I swear I will set down in fun; By me, your sins shall be forgiven As sure as Mercy is in Heaven."

QUae GENUS.

"Then, at your pleasure I proceed, Nor will I hide a single deed; There is but one I doubt to own, But that to you shall be made known, And will with you securely rest As in my own uneasy breast; Though I'm afraid of vengeful laws As I believe without a cause.

Indeed, I have contriv'd to play The very fool for many a day, But brief, be sure, I'll strive to be In this my early history.

"And here, an' please you, Sir, begins The tale of my mishaps--the chapter of my sins."

CANTO II

It may seem queer when 'tis the will Of Fate, its wishes to fulfil, To call the culprit to the bar, One born beneath a luckless star, And from his urging conscience tell The truths that on his mem'ry dwell, When, like a checquer they display The black and white to open day.

Thus, as the truth he's bound to state, The former may preponderate; While, in a happy moment bold, He may some conscious good unfold, Nor can the awkward task refuse Both to applaud and to accuse.

--Such thoughts as these might be the cause, Why poor QUae GENUS made a pause.

"Well," said _Sir Jeff'ry_, "pray go on, Or never will your tale have done: I've told you, and you must attend; You tell your story to a friend, Who will, whatever may appear, With kindness and compa.s.sion hear."

QUae GENUS.

"Your pardon, Sir, I will proceed, Nor stop till I've perform'd the deed.

--Thus, so far Fortune deck'd with smiles The season which our youth beguiles, And gave the hope of added measure To gay delight and solid pleasure: But while the merry song went round, And to the tabor's lively sound, The village did in cadence beat, With all its many twinkling feet, Pale Fate appear'd, in cypress wreath, And call'd out for the DANCE OF DEATH: When my dear friend, who gave the feast, And cheer'd with smiles each happy guest, Was borne away, I scarce knew why, But I was told,--it was to die.

And soon, alas! I wond'ring saw All govern'd by a man of law, With whom she seldom converse held, But when her private cares compell'd Some petty, trifling, legal aid, Which coolly she discharg'd and paid.

'Twas by this man's exulting side I walk'd along and sobb'd and sigh'd When she was carried to the bourne From whence we mortals ne'er return.

--I was by all around approv'd, And by the better neighbours lov'd, While I in ev'ry eye could see The pity that was felt for me.

By her death-bed he held the quill That made him master of her will, While a round sum was written there To pay him for the tender care Which he of her sweet boy would take, For her's and her dear husband's sake.

Husband! whom this same man of law, This forging rascal never saw: Indeed by many it was thought He put his name where he ought not.

It much surpriz'd each curious friend, And quite astonish'd _Doctor Bend_, Whose rev'rend t.i.tles should have been Where the foul lawyer's name was seen.

Wrong was suspected, Counsel had, But no objection could be made, And by all forms of law allied, The will was shap'd and testified: The attorney to his duties swore, So he became Executor.

'Tis true she left her all to me, But here and there a legacy; Though, such were this strange will's commands Through _Lawyer Gripe-all's_ grasping hands, All was to pa.s.s and there remain Till I the age of man attain; And if I chanc'd to die before,-- The lawyer was to take the store.

All saw, or all believ'd the cheat, But the law veil'd the base deceit, And when the doctor came to see How justice might be done to me, On due reflection, thought it fit, As things were order'd, to submit; Told me, at present, to be quiet, To seem content, nor breed a riot, But when I truely crav'd a friend, I knew the home of _d.i.c.key Bend_; Then with affection's warmth caress'd me, And, with a parent's blessing, bless'd me.

"From that dear cottage now I mov'd, Where I such tender fondness prov'd; From a calm scene of taste refin'd, And all that could improve the mind; Where daily blessings were bestow'd From all the humble neighbourhood; Where heart-felt goodness was employ'd, And social harmony enjoy'd;-- From these QUae GENUS was transferr'd To where the daily curse was heard, Where the law's promise was delay'd, And money for injustice paid; Or a loud, base, malignant joy, Which the law's triumphs might employ;-- To an old house that stood alone, With ivy and with moss o'ergrown, And where the practiser of laws Did his foul deeds 'mid bats and daws; Nay, which, as fame reports, was worse, The house was saddled with a curse, That _Gripe-all_, in the law's despite, Had robb'd some widow of her right, And, by his cutting and his carving, Had got the house--and left her starving.

"Oft I my loss, in secret, wept, And when my eyelids should have slept, Nay, when those eyelids should have clos'd And I in strength'ning sleep repos'd, They remain'd wakeful oft and shed Their dews upon my troubled bed.

Though Master _Gripe-all_, it was known Shew'd me a kindness not his own; And did with all indulgence treat me, As the best means, at length, to cheat me.

He strove my early grief to soothe, Call'd me his dear, delightful youth; Gave me a pretty horse to ride, With money in my purse beside; Let me employ the taylor's art To deck me out and make me smart, Let me just study when I pleas'd, Nor e'er my mind with learning teas'd.

But still a gnawing discontent Prey'd on me wheresoe'er I went.

--Of Phillis too I was bereft, One real pleasure that was left: A fav'rite spaniel of my friend, That did on all my steps attend, At eve was frisking, fond and gay, } But on the sad succeeding day, } A poison'd, swollen form it lay. } It might be chance, but while I griev'd, The following letter I received, Which was thrown o'er a hedge the while I sat half weeping on a stile.

The writer I could never tell; But he who wrote it meant me well; And I've no doubt that it contain'd The thoughts which through the country reign'd."

LETTER.

"_I'm a poor man, but yet can spell, } And I lov'd Madam SYNTAX well: } --But I've a sorry tale to tell. } Young 'Squire you're in the Devil's hands, Or one who yields to his commands, And who, I'm certain, would be bold In b.l.o.o.d.y deeds, if 'tis for gold.

Halters he fears, but the base wretch Fears no one mortal but JACK KETCH: Yet what with quirks and such like flaws, He can contrive to cheat the laws_: _Though Madam's hand the will might sign, It is no more her will than mine.

Some say, as she lay on her bed, The deed was sign'd when she was dead, And I've heard some one say, whose name I must not give to common fame, He'd lay ten pounds and say, 'have done,'

You liv'd not on to twenty-one; And if you die before, 'tis known, That Madam's money's all his own.

Nay, how he did the will compose, 'Tis Beelzebub alone who knows!

He in a lonely mansion lives, But there the cunning villain thrives: Yes, he gets on, as it appears, By setting people by the ears: Though I have heard NAN MIDWIFE say, Who sometimes travels late that way, That 'neath the yew, near the house wall, Where the dark ivy's seen to crawl, A cat she once saw which was half As big as any full-grown calf, And with her tail beat down the bushes, As if they were but slender rushes; Has often felt sulphureous steam, And seen bright lines of lightning gleam.

These things the good, old woman, swears She sometimes smells and sees and hears, While thus all trembling with affright, She scarce can get her bald mare by't.

--Run off, young 'Squire, for much I fear You'll be cut off, if you stay here.

My service thus I do commend, From, Sir, your very humble friend: And hope you will take in good part, What comes from poor but honest heart!_"

"This plain epistle told no more Than had been hinted at before; But though I was too bold to fear That danger of such kind was near, Yet still the honest counsel brought My mind to a new range of thought.

"One day as I was riding out, Prowling the country round about, A guide-post stood, in letter'd pride, Close by the dusty high-road side: With many towns for pa.s.sage fam'd, _Oxford_ upon its points was nam'd, Which instant call'd me to attend To my kind patron _Doctor Bend_: And then there 'rose within my breast A thought that reason did suggest, And not th' effect of boyish whim, '_Th' Attorney quit and fly to him_.'-- --Soon after, by a lucky chance, I heard what made my heart to dance, That _Cerberus_ would be from home, At least for sev'ral days to come, Though, when of me he took his leave, He said, 'expect me home at eve, But, as talk may the way beguile,'

He added, 'ride with me a mile.'

--This was the very thing I wish'd, For now I felt the fox was dish'd.

He rode on first and bade me follow, 'Twas then that I began to hollow; I had but one _white lie_ to tell And all things would be going well.

I said it was my guardian's whim That I should make the tour with him, And ask'd for a clean shirt or so As I had such a way to go.