But my misfortunes were not past, Though this I hope will be my last, Or I'll avenge me of the pack, The foe I carry on my back; From London Bridge I'll dash me plump,-- And drown th' incorrigible Hump.

"Now, the good lady of the house, Who had an influence o'er her spouse, Was in that interesting state Which I can't otherwise relate Than being such as loving wives Think the great honour of their lives, And she thought, if her daily eye Should view my sad deformity, It might the happy shape destroy Of the expected girl or boy; And ladies, in a certain trim, Must be indulg'd in ev'ry whim.

Such danger did my form display, Another hour I must not stay: But gold was giv'n to heal my pride, And bribe me to be satisfied.

'Tis true, kind words explain'd the cause; Nay, much was said of Nature's laws; And where that ruling pow'r thought fit, To her caprice we must submit.

--Thus, once again, if not for ever, I had to curse th' infernal fever That did my upright form disgrace, And rob me of my welcome place.

--At length, brimfull of discontent, Half-mad, I to the Office went; Where Fortune seem'd to change my view, For there she made me known to you.

"Thus, Sir, I've told my tedious story, And now a suppliant stand before you: But in my story, right or wrong, Truth was the rudder of my tongue.

--I've done, and, in all patience, wait, To know how you may rule my fate; And if my hist'ry will commend } QUae GENUS, (such may be his end,) } To you, _Sir Jeff'ry_, as his friend." }

CANTO III

Silence for some short time ensu'd, Ere conversation was renew'd.

--_Sir Jeff'ry_ first strok'd down his chin, } With something 'twixt a yawn and grin, } And then thought proper to begin. }

"By a great writer it is said, And one who seldom was betray'd, When he employ'd his tongue or pen On the known characters of men: (And if, perchance, I'm not mistaken, I think his famous name was BACON,) That in the changeful scenes of life, Which raise up enmity and strife, He may 'gainst others hold his head, Nor the wide world's opinion dread, If, though he almost stands alone, An honest heart maintains its own: But that he is an arrant fool Who yields to his own ridicule.

Now such a fool, as we have seen, QUae GENUS, from weak pride, has been: But, though I wonder at his folly, I will not make him melancholy.

"Things at the worst, 'tis said, must mend, And I will prove your real friend, If you, hereafter, have the sense To merit my full confidence: And now, I think, you may prepare To take my household to your care.

Your pride must not offended be At putting on a livery, As that will be the best disguise To hide you from all prying eyes; QUae GENUS, too, you now must yield, That learned name should be conceal'd; _Ezekiel_ will suspicion smother, As well, I think, as any other, Till I have due enquiry made If _Gripe-all_ be alive or dead, And how far I may recommend The runaway to _Doctor Bend_.

Do what is right--and laugh at fear; The mark you carry in your rear Will never intercept the view Fortune may have in store for you.

No more let vanity resent The stroke by which your form is bent!

How many in the world's wide range Would willingly their figures change For such as yours, and give their wealth To get your hump and all its health.

Look at my legs--my stomach see, And tell me, would you change with me?

Nay, when your healthy form I view, } Though all be-hump'd, I'd change with you, } And give you half my fortune too. } Lament no more your loss of beauty, But give your thoughts to do that duty Which my peculiar wants require, And more you need not to desire.

I feel I cannot pay too high For care and for fidelity: Let me see that--my heart engages To give you something more than wages --Your duties will be found to vary, As Steward, Nurse, and Secretary: Thus you will soon my wants attend Less as a servant than a friend.

You may suppose I little know Of what is going on below; My leading wishes are, to prove That I am duly serv'd above, And you, as may be daily seen, Must play the active game between."

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

QUae GENUS, IN THE SPORTS OF THE KITCHEN.]

More pa.s.s'd, that needs not our repeating, About the mystery of eating, Which did these sage instructions close, When good _Sir Jeff'ry_ 'gan to doze: And, soon as he more soundly slept, Downstairs _Ezekiel_ cautious crept, (For by that name he now is known, As fate has chang'd it for his own,) To let th' expecting folk below The nature of his office know.

To ev'ry man he gave his fist,-- The females, too, he warmly kiss'd; Then to th' a.s.sembled kitchen spoke, But not as if he thought a joke, Or in a hypocritic glee, But with a smiling gravity.

"_Sir Jeff'ry's_ household int'rests are Committed to my faithful care; And I must hope we all agree To serve him with fidelity."

To this they all, in order due, Gave their a.s.sent--and bound it too By words which each one, in their station, Gave as a solemn declaration.

The cook and housekeeper began, And thus her red rag glibly ran; While, from her knee unto her chin, She wav'd the floured rolling pin.

"O, may the kettle never boil, May b.u.t.ter always turn to oil, And may the jack, the chimney's boast, From time to time despoil the roast!

May soot fall on the ready stew, And the cat lick the rich ragout!

May China dish with pie to bake, While I am speaking, may it crack, If I e'er took the offer'd bribe From any of the market tribe, Or e'er disgrac'd the name of cook To falsify the kitchen book; Nay, if I have touch'd or taken, For my own use, one slice of bacon; If ever I were such a sinner, May I now spoil _Sir Jeff'ry's_ dinner; And should I suffer such disgrace, I instantly should lose my place!"

CHAMBER MAID.

"May I be hang'd by some bell rope If e'er I cribb'd an ounce of soap, Or pocketed wax-candles' ends To deal out slily to my friends; Or, in the linen's gen'ral muster, Made free with towel or with duster; Or e'er did bribes from turners take, The mops to spoil, or brooms to break; Or in the bed-rooms made a stir To call in the upholsterer, As house-maids with dishonest view, Are, as I've heard, so apt to do!

Or ever gave, in washing tub, The linen a hard, tearing rub, That might encrease the rags--a fee Which household custom gives to me!

--That I speak truth, I here declare, And Molly, too, the same will swear; Who striking hard upon the dresser, Hop'd Heaven itself would never bless her, If, from whate'er she saw or knew What had been promis'd was not true."

KITCHEN MAID.

"Though I am rather in a flutter, I vow I never turn'd the b.u.t.ter Into the pot that might encrease The perquisite of daily grease; Nor sought for fat, no, not a bit, But what dripp'd kindly from the spit, Or from the plates and dishes came, When I had daily clean'd the same; Nor ever let a candle fall To fill a gaping interval!

Nor did I e'er a doit receive Which coal-merchants may sometimes give To those who watch the kitchen-grate, And keep it in a flaming state; Who may the poker wield at will And seldom leave its poking still, Nor e'er the kitchen blaze controul By being n.i.g.g.ard of the coal: Charges that are so often laid To the hard-working, kitchen maid!"

FOOTMAN.

"O may I never, never be A servant out of livery, Which is th' ambitious, hop'd-for lot Of all who wear the shoulder knot!

O may I never quit my place } Behind the chair, nor shew my face, } The sideboard's glitt'ring show to grace, } If, when my master ceas'd to dine, I ever stole a gla.s.s of wine!

O, may my food be pitch and mustard, If ever I took tart or custard, If e'er I did my finger dip In some nice sauce and rub my lip!

If turnpike tolls I e'er enlarg'd,-- May I this moment be discharg'd!"

COACHMAN.

"May I be flogg'd with th.o.r.n.y briars If e'er I heard such cursed liars, And should I venture now to say } I ne'er purloin'd or corn or hay, } I should be liar big as they! } Nay, 'tis such folly to be lying, And all these trifling tricks denying, Which, ere a fortnight's past and over, Mr. _Ezekiel_ must discover.

_Sir Jeff'ry's_ keen look never sees What are but clever servants' fees, And he would feel it to his sorrow, Were he to change us all to-morrow; For the new steward soon will see No master's better serv'd than he.

There's not a carriage about town That looks genteeler than our own; Or horses with more sprightly air, Trot through the street or round a square.

I say that we all do our duty, And if we make a little booty, We never hear _Sir Jeff._ complain: And wherefore should one give him pain?

If better servants he should seek, He must be changing ev'ry week; And I am sure that kind of strife Would spoil the quiet of his life: Nay, as you know, there is no question Would operate on his digestion; And when that fails, it is a point That puts the rest all out of joint.

Thus all our trifling, secret gains Save him a mult.i.tude of pains: And when our daily work is done, If we kick up a little fun, No harm proceeds--no ill is meant-- He's not disturb'd--and all's content.

--Nay, now my friends, I'll club my shilling, And you, I'm sure, will be as willing To drink--that bus'ness may go on In the same temper it has done, And, without any treach'rous bother, That we may understand each other: That, without boasting or denying, We need not to continue lying; And that, disdaining needless fuss, _Ezekiel_ may be one of us."

The wine was brought, for vulgar beer Was not thought proper to appear; The cook a pigeon pie produc'd, And other t.i.t-bits that amus'd The appet.i.tes of those who sought 'em, With thanks to the fat dame who brought 'em.

--Thus the new steward was made free Of kitchen hospitality; And to be blind to what he saw, He was bound down by kitchen law.

At length, in office thus install'd, And each was gone where duty call'd, He, with a pressing arm, embrac'd } The busy cook's well-fatten'd waist, } As with her pin she plied the paste; } When from her active tongue he drew The duties which he had to do, And how he might their claims divide, Nor lean too much to either side.

--Our hero, who now felt his ground, Thought not of change in what he found; And that to enter on reform Would be but to excite a storm, Disturb the Knight's desir'd repose And fill a kitchen full of foes.

He plainly saw his station bound him To be at peace with all around him: But, as the diff'rent int'rests drew, He rather trembled at the view.

Thus, if we may small things compare With those which more important are, We may _Ezekiel's_ state apply To maxims of philosophy, By which it seems life's changeful hours Are subject to two adverse powers, That govern as by time or chance, Nay, struggle for predominance; While each, at diff'rent hours, may be Possess'd of short-liv'd victory, As varying impulses may bind The operations of the mind.

Here selfish int'rest will prevail-- There gen'rous feeling turns the scale; So that he neither can be said Strictly to be or good or bad; But in the one or other sense, Of that presiding influence Which counteracting views may give, And the complying mind receive.

Thus, subject to these adverse powers, In diff'rent places--diff'rent hours-- Poor mortal man, by their constraint, May be a sinner or a saint.

To day he's wading to the chin In folly's stream, through thick and thin; While, on the morrow, he may prove What virtue's self delights to love.

'Twas in this case our hero stood: He might be bad--he might be good; If good, he must the kitchen sweep-- If bad, its tricks a secret keep; But if he would preserve his cloth, He must determine to be both.

Thus, as he took a thoughtful view, } He saw, his int'rest to pursue, } He must divide himself in two. } Above to stick to rigid plan-- Below to join the lively clan: In what _Sir Jeff'ry_ did entrust To his sole province, to be just; But ne'er to interrupt the show That was kept up by friends below: At least, he was resolv'd to try This system of philosophy; To be a favourite with all, In drawing room and servants' hall.

From all that he at present view'd, No other plan could be pursu'd; No other method could he trace, To be at ease and keep his place.

Up-stairs to serious care he went, } Down-stairs to stolen merriment, } And thus the day and night were spent. }

_Sir Jeff'ry_, in a tone of pleasure, Talk'd of _Ezekiel_ as a treasure; And, far as the good Knight could tell, He merited the t.i.tle well: Nay, it is true, he never fail'd To meet the humour that prevail'd; And through the day, from morn till night, _Sir Jeff'ry_ found that all was right.

But when he slumb'ring sought his bed, And on the pillow laid his head, Then did our hero quit his post And pa.s.s away like midnight ghost; Then did he from his virtue move, The power that rul'd him when above, And seek the lively sports below; For what could puzzled hunch-back do?

Could he another course prefer?

No,--he must take things as they were.