The History of Johnny Quae Genus Part 8

CANTO IV

The various, the uncertain views Which the all-anxious world pursues, While it directs its searching eye To what is call'd prosperity, Compose the gen'ral, pictur'd strife That forms the daily scene of life; And make up the uncertain measure Of power, of riches, and of pleasure; Which, whatsoe'er may be our state, } Do on the varying projects wait } Of lowly poor or princely great: } For as all worldly things move on We weigh them by comparison.

Thus he who boasts his little all At a street-corner on a stall, Tempting the gaze of wandering eyes To view the transient merchandise, Will look to Fortune's smile to bless His humble trading with success, As he whose freighted vessel sails O'er distant seas with doubtful gales.

Nay, in Ambition's humble school Perceive we not the love of rule, O'er rustic swains to bear the rod And be a village demi-G.o.d?

To gain command and take the lead Where mean submission courts a head, Does in the lowest cla.s.s prevail Of vulgar thoughts to turn the scale, As that which on their wishes wait, Whose object is to rule the state.

--Seek you for pleasure as it flows, In ev'ry soil the flow'ret grows; From the pale primrose of the dale Nurs'd only by the vernal gale, To the rich plant of sweets so rare } Whose tints the rainbow colours share } And drinks conservatorial air. } But, 'tis so subject to the blast, It cannot promise long to last; Though still it 'joys the fragrant day, Till nature bids it pa.s.s away.

The rude boy turns the circling rope, Or flies a kite or spins a top, When, a stout stripling, he is seen With bat and ball upon the green; The later pleasures then await On humble life whate'er its state, And are with equal ardor sought As those with high refinement wrought, Where birth and wealth and taste combine To make the festive brilliance s.h.i.+ne.

Thus the same pa.s.sions govern all Who creep on this terrestrial ball: Their objects, truly, are the same, However shap'd, whate'er their name.

What though the varying plan confounds In giving sixpences or pounds, In velvet or in home-spun cloth, They may be base curmudgeons both.

Some are by charity enroll'd On tablets proud in lines of gold, While others, as by stealth, convey The mite that shuns the light of day; Though each performs a diff'rent part, Each may possess a Christian heart.

It is not upon wealth alone That happiness erects its throne: How oft, alas! it is we see The rich involv'd in misery; How oft is view'd in reason's eye The wants which wealth can ne'er supply!

The way to power may be betray'd, Though 'tis with solid gold inlaid; Nay, purchas'd pleasure prove deceit, And be at length a very cheat.

--How weak, how vain is human pride, Dares man upon himself confide: The wretch who glories in his gain Ama.s.ses heaps on heaps in vain.

Why lose we life, in anxious cares, To lay in h.o.a.rds for future years?

Can they, when tortur'd by disease, Cheer our sick heart and purchase ease?

Can they prolong one gasp of breath, Or calm the troubled hour of death?

What's man in all his boasted sway?

Perhaps the tyrant of a day.

Can he in all the pride of power Ensure his honours for an hour?

Alike the laws of life take place Through ev'ry branch of human race: The monarch, of long regal line, Was rais'd from dust as frail as mine.

Can he pour health into his veins Or cool the fever's restless pains?

Can he worn down in nature's course New brace his feebled nerves with force?

Can he, how vain is mortal power, Stretch life beyond the destin'd hour?

"Consider, man, weigh well thy frame; The king, the beggar, is the same, Dust form'd us all,--each breathes his day, } Then sinks into his mortal clay." } Thus wrote the fabling Muse of GAY. }

Such thoughts as these of moral kind QUae GENUS weigh'd within his mind: For wherefore should it not be thought } That, as his early mind was taught, } It might be with sage maxims fraught? } --Thus seated, or as he stood sentry, Sole guardian of the butler's pantry, Which lock'd up all the household state, The c.u.mbrance rich of ma.s.sy plate, And all the honour that could grace The power of superior place, That did acknowledg'd rank bestow O'er all the kitchen-folk below; What wonder that his mind should range On hopes that waited on the change Which unexpected Fortune's power Seem'd on his present state to shower.

Though while his wand'ring mind embrac'd The present time as well as past, The visions of the future too Gave a fair prospect to his view.

But life this well-known feature bears, Our _hopes_' a.s.sociates are our _fears_, And ever seem, in reason's eye, As struggling for the mastery, In which they play their various part, To gain that citadel the heart.

Thus though our Hero's honest pride Was, for the present, satisfied; And did things, as they seem'd to show, Promise to stay in _Statu Quo_, He, surely, would have ask'd no more For Fortune on his lot to pour, And with all due contentment wait For what might be his future fate: But while the present hour beguiles His cheerful mind with cheering smiles, The forward thought would strive to sow An awkward wrinkle on his brow.

Now, strange as the event appears, The source of all his hopes and fears Was on each settled point the same, And _Jeff'ry Gourmand_ was its name.

The Knight most gen'rous was and free, And kind as kindest heart could be, So that QUae GENUS scarce could trace The humbling duties of his place.

Whate'er he did was sure to please, No fretful whims appear'd to tease; And while with fond attention shown, He did each willing duty own, Sir _Jeff'ry_ frequent smiles bestow'd, And many a kind indulgence show'd, And oftentimes would wants repress To make his fav'rite's labours less: Nay, when he dawdled o'er his meat, } Would nod and bid him take a seat } To share the lux'ry of the treat. } --He fancied, and it might be true, That none about him e'er could do What his peculiar wants required, And in the way he most desired, As _his_ QUae GENUS, thus he claim'd him, Whene'er to other folk he nam'd him.

Indeed, he took it in his head That no one else could warm his bed, And give it that proportion'd heat That gave due warmth to either sheet.

Our Hero rather lik'd the plan, As Molly brought the warming-pan, And having pa.s.s'd it through the door, Waited without till all was o'er.

Thus, having rang'd the alarum-bell, With other things I must not tell, And seen Sir _Jeff'ry's_ pillow'd head Turning to rest within his bed, QUae GENUS bore the pan away Where Molly fair was us'd to stay.

He was to honour firm, and she The mirror bright of Chast.i.ty.

Thus half an hour was often spent In interchange of sentiment, Which doubtless was some tender theme: A subject for a pleasing dream.

All this tells well,--nor was this all; The sceptre of the servants'-hall Was now committed to his hand; O'er that he had supreme command, But such his mild and smiling sway, All felt a pleasure to obey; And 'twas the kitchen's daily toast, Long may QUae GENUS rule the roast.

Tradesmen did to his worth subscribe, For bills were paid without a bribe; And good Sir _Jeffery_ quite content How the allotted income went, At no accounts e'er gave a look, But those which fill'd his Banker's book.

What could our Hero more desire, What more his anxious wish require, When with a calm and reas'ning eye He ponder'd o'er his destiny, As he unwound the tangled thread That to his present comforts led, And serv'd as a directing clue In such strange ways to guide him through?

--To what new heights his hopes might soar, It would be needless to explore: For now the threat'ning time appears When he is troubled with his fears.

His hopes have triumph'd o'er the past; But then the present may not last; And what succession he might find Hara.s.s'd with doubts his anxious mind.

--Of the gross, c.u.mbrous flesh the load Sir _Jeffery_ bore did not forebode Through future years a ling'ring strife Between the powers of death and life; The legs puff'd out with frequent swell, Did symptoms of the dropsy tell; The stiffen'd joints no one could doubt Were children of a settled gout; And humours redd'ning on the face, Bespoke the Erysipelas.

Indeed, whene'er QUae GENUS view'd, With rich and poignant sauce embued, As dish to dish did there succeed, Which seem'd by Death compos'd to feed With fatal relishes to please The curious taste of each disease, That did Sir _Jeffery's_ carcase share And riot on the destin'd fare: When thus he watch'd th' insidious food, He fear'd the ground on which he stood.

--Oft did he curse the weighty haunch Which might o'ercharge Sir _Jeff'ry's_ paunch; And to the turtle give a kick, Whose callipash might make him sick.

He only pray'd Sir _Jeff'ry's_ wealth Might keep on life and purchase health.

"Let him but live," he would exclaim, "And fortune I will never blame."

Money is oft employ'd in vain, To cure disease and stifle pain; And though he hop'd yet still he fear'd Whene'er grave Galen's self appear'd; For when the solemn Doctor came, (Sir MIDRIFF BOLUS was his name,) He often in a whisper said, "I wonder that he is not dead, Nay, I must own, 'tis most surprising, That such a length of gormandising Has not ere this produc'd a treat For hungry church-yard worms to eat, And 'tis the skill by which I thrive That keeps him to this hour alive.

Nay, though I now Sir _Jeffery_ see } In spirits and such smiling glee, } I tremble for to-morrow's fee." } --When this brief tale he chose to tell And ring his patient's fun'ral bell, QUae GENUS fail'd not to exclaim, As he call'd on the Doctor's name, "O tell me not of the disaster That I must feel for such a master, Nay, I may add, for such a friend Were I to go to the world's end, Alas, my journey would be vain, Another such I ne'er should gain!"

Sir MIDRIFF, member of the college, And of high standing for his knowledge, In lab'ring physic's mystic sense And practical experience, As common fame was pleas'd to say, Expected more than common pay.

Now, as Sir _Jeff'ry_ never thought His health could be too dearly bought, Whene'er the healing Knight was seen, Wrapt up within the Indian screen, To shape the drugs that might becalm Some secret pain or sudden qualm; Or when there was a frequent question, Of bile's o'erflow and indigestion, Or some more serious want had sped Sir _Jeff'ry Gourmand_ to his bed, QUae GENUS fail'd not to convey (For he had learn'd the ready way), The two-fold fee, by strict command, Into Sir _Midriff's_ ready hand.

Thus, in this kind of double dealing, The Doctor had a pleasant feeling, That seem'd to work up a regard For him who gave the due reward, And knew so well to shape the fee From the sick chamber's treasury.

Thus when our Hero told his pain } And did his future fears explain, } _Galen_ replied,--"Those fears restrain, } To this grave promise pray attend, Sir _Midriff Bolus_ is your friend."

Such, when he touch'd the welcome fees, Were the sly Doctor's promises: QUae GENUS with good grace receiv'd 'em, Though 'tis not said that he believ'd 'em.

--No, never was a visit past, But it was hinted as the last, Had they not been in lucky trim To have sent off post-haste for him.

Whene'er the Knight's legs took to swelling, All ears were bor'd with sad foretelling; And if his chest was over-loaded, Some dire disaster was foreboded, But failing in prophetic story, He gave his science all the glory.

A year, howe'er, was past and gone, And all the household cares went on, In active zeal and order too, As all such matters ought to do, With hours of leisure well employ'd, And many a fantasy enjoy'd.

But something yet remains to know:-- To manage _two strings to your bow_, A maxim is, which ev'ry age Has rend'red venerably sage, And forms a more than useful rule In the world's universal school.

Sir _Jeffery_, we make no doubt, In various ways had found it out: It might have help'd him on to wealth, And now to aid the wants of health, He kept the adage in his view, } And as one Doctor might not do, } It now appears that he had two. } The one, in order due, has been Brought forth on the dramatic scene, Ranks high in bright collegiate fame, And M. D. decorates his name.

He never ventures to prescribe But what is known to all the tribe, Who hold the dispensarial reign Beneath the dome of Warwick-Lane.

The other, steering from the track Of learned lore, was styl'd a Quack; Who, by a secret skill, composes For many an ill his sovereign doses: But whether right or wrong, the town Had given his nostrums some renown.

Salves for all wounds, for each disease Specifics that could give it ease, Balsams, beyond all human praise, That would prolong our mortal days.

All these, in many a puffing paper, Are seen in striking forms to vapour, As, in the Magazines they s.h.i.+ne, The boast of Doctor ANODYNE.

His office was advice to give In his own house from morn till eve, And a green door, within a court, Mark'd out the place of snug resort, Where patients could indulge the feeling That might dispose them to concealing The nervous hope, the sly desire To eke out life's expiring fire, Without the danger to expose Their secret or to friends or foes.

Sir _Jeffery_ was one of these Who thought it was no waste of fees, Though they were toss'd about by stealth, If he could think they purchas'd health: But here, who will not say, it seems He guarded life by two extremes.

Sir _Midriff_ told him he must starve, And _Anodyne_ to cut and carve: But though the first he n.o.bly paid, It was the latter he obey'd.

Full often was his _Merc'ry_ sent To bring back med'cine and content; Permission, what he wish'd, to eat, } And physic to allay the heat } Brought on by a luxurious treat; } To give the stomach strength to bear it, With some enliv'ning dose to cheer it.

But still our Hero's watchful eye Saw that this sensuality Was bringing matters to an end, That he too soon should lose his friend; And in what way he should supply The loss when that same friend should die, Did often o'er his senses creep When he should have been fast asleep.

Sir _Midriff_ to his promise swore, And _Anodyne_ had promis'd more, Both had prescrib'd or more or less, A future vision of success: But time has still some steps to move, Before they their engagements prove; Ere our QUae GENUS we shall see In a new line of history.

Sir _Jeffery_ now began to droop, Nor was he eager for his soup: He blunder'd on the wrong ragout, } Nor harangu'd o'er a fav'rite stew, } Scarce wild-duck from a widgeon knew. } No longer thought it an abuse, To see St. MICH: without a goose.

Unless prepar'd with cordial strong, He hardly heard the jovial song, Or hearing, had not strength to move And strike the table to approve.

Nay, sometimes his unsteady hand Could not the rubied gla.s.s command, But forc'd him slowly to divide The rosy b.u.mper's flowing tide.

Beside him oft QUae GENUS sat An hour, and not a word of chat; And when he was in sleepy taking The news would scarcely keep him waking.

--It was a melancholy showing, But poor Sir _Jeffery_ was a-going.

"Indulge his gormandising swallow, And apoplexy soon must follow,"

Such did Sir _Midriff's_ sage foreknowledge Give as the doctrine of the College.

"--Now, if you dare to keep him low, A dropsy gives the fatal blow.

Remember, my good friend, I pray, What _Anodyne_ is pleas'd to say."

When, in a kind of solemn croak, The Quack, with shaking noddle, spoke.

Thus did the differing doctors fail, Nor could their varying skill prevail: They neither could set matters right, Or quicken a pall'd appet.i.te.

More weak and weak Sir _Jeffery_ grew, Nay, wasted to the daily view, And, as his faithful servant found, Between two stools he fell to ground.

But still he smelt the sav'ry meat, } He sometimes still would eye the treat, } And praise the dish he could not eat. } One day, when in a suns.h.i.+ne hour, To pick a bit he felt the power, Just as he did his knife apply To give a slice of oyster-pie, Whether the effort was too great To bear the morsel to his plate; Or if, from any other cause, His nature made a gen'ral pause, He gave a groan, it was his last, And life and oyster-pies were past.