The History of Johnny Quae Genus Part 16

--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 s.h.i.+ne, 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 fas.h.i.+on'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 pa.s.s'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 pa.s.sage 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 pa.s.s 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 c.o.c.k of hay, The p.r.o.ng 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 Devons.h.i.+re; 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 pa.s.sion 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 QUae 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 pa.s.s, He saw a gay, well-figur'd la.s.s, Who, in her floating fripp'ry shone, With all the trim of fas.h.i.+on 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 pa.s.s'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 coa.r.s.er 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 pa.s.sing 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 pa.s.s 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 pa.s.sing pleasantly away.

--But first the TRIO thought it best To s.n.a.t.c.h some hours' refres.h.i.+ng rest, When, as it was in Summer's pride, } They pa.s.s'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 st.u.r.dy 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-fas.h.i.+on'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. }

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

QUae GENUS committed, with a riotous dancing Party, to the Watch-House.]

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 rehea.r.s.e 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 b.u.mper 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 gla.s.s, These sentiments were heard to pa.s.s.

"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!"