Anodyne.

"This the first rule that I shall trace:—

You must command a solemn face;

Nor suffer objects to beguile

Your features to familiar smile.

Here, I must own, you oft may see

What may court transient pleasantry;

For e'en 'midst misery and pain,

You'll find such whims and fancies reign,

Hear patients cough and grunt and sneeze

In such uncouth, discordant keys,

That without care, I should not wonder

Your muscles into laugh might blunder.

You have a speech runs off at score,

As rapid as a chaise and four,

But with my sickly folk be slow

As a stage-waggon's us'd to go;

And pray remember to apply

Your words with due solemnity.

I know you well can suit your tongue

To any age, to old or young;

Nor will the task your care perplex

In the complaints of either sex;

And bear in mind, whate'er you see,

To veil your thoughts with modesty:

But hear the great and leading rule

Of this my Esculapian school.

"I care not by what name you call

This spacious parlour, room or hall:

But here my daily patients range

Whose order you must never change:

Were I to take them one by one,

By Heaven I should ne'er have done;

And, therefore, govern'd by their feather

I thus assort my birds together.

Here, on the right, are duly seated

Those who for gouty freaks are treated,

Then comes the symptomatic fever,

And next the bilious and their liver:

Then follow others in their turn,

The chills which shake, the heats that burn;

The stomachs which will ne'er digest

The food their feeders love the best;

The wheesers too are not far off,

All those who hem and spit and cough,

With such, not of the happiest kind,

Whose bowels threat to crack with wind

The Hypochondres here repose

Impatient for the cordial dose,

And children on the carpet brawl,

Till my spice biscuits calm the squall.

"I first review th' assembled tribe
Then walk off stately and prescribe,
When I consign to your quick sense
Th' appropriate med'cines to dispense,
To all the classes in your view,
With gentle tone and caution due:
See then how much depends on you.		}
Each case that asks superior art
I send into a room apart;
And there I never feel alarm;
I play no tricks and do no harm.
When I a desp'rate illness see,
For patients must not die with me,
I recommend them to repair
To goat's-milk and the country air;
And when such counsel they receive
They do not fail to take their leave,
Full of my candour and disdain
Of any little paltry gain.
Deep cuts, sore legs and gummy eyes,
With all the common casualties,
I with my healing dame bestow,
In her snug, secret cell below:
Indeed I've sometimes star'd to see
The wonders of her surgery.
—'Tis true 'mong doctors I'm not famous,
But still I'm not an Ignoramus;
For I can play a skillfull part
In elements of chymic art;
I give the drafts a varying hue,
To-day so red, to-morrow blue,
And touch them with a diff'rent savour,
To give a worse or better flavour,
As it may suit, then change their name,
Though they may be the very same,
Both in their object and their aim.		}

"It is with me a leading fashion

To play thus with imagination;

A symptom that doth never cease,

Or more or less in all disease.

There are sly shifts in ev'ry trade,

Which money calls in to its aid:

But here I'd have it understood,

If when my practice does no good,

My conscience never has the qualm,

That I do any real harm.

Nor are my various cures unknown

As placards tell of my renown!

My nostrums oft my hopes fulfil,

Nor do I know they ever kill.

Those cases which I've cause to doubt,

And cannot find their symptoms out,

I never fail to leave to nature,

Who is a wonder-working creature:

And my chief cures which make a stir,—

I e'en must own I owe to her.—

—Such the great object of my care.—

Fear not, you will th' advantage share.

But know, when all my sick are here,

You as Inferior must appear;

But business o'er and they are gone,

Then good Quæ Genus, we are one!"

At length the compact was agreed,
And all things promis'd to succeed:
Our Hero soon could cup and bleed;		}
And, with a kind, officious grace,
The med'cine gave in time and place;
Nay, as occasion might afford,
Bitters improve with sweet'ning word:
He had acquir'd the art to please
With welcome flatt'ries such as these.

"How stout your legs appear to-day!

I trust you have walk'd all the way!

And ere that our brief work is done,

We shall have taught you how to run!"

"O madam! how I must rejoice,

That you have lost your husky voice;

Soon I doubt not that I shall find

Your tones are of the sweetest kind!"

"And that fine face I griev'd to view

When cloth'd in such a pallid hue;

But I have seen, this passing week,

The colour coming on your cheek.

And if some ill does not oppose,

We soon shall see the tender rose:

And hope's a friend that will supply

The prospect which, I trust, is nigh."

Now sometimes he would give a scope

To his propensity to joke.

For 'mid this pale-fac'd, grumbling mess

'Twere well to stir some chearfulness:

For if a parson chose to squeeze

A lady on her crummy knees,

(For here a little play and prate

Might cheer a sickly tête-à-tête)

His whisper might perchance declare,

"Doctor, her pulses are not there."

—At all events, things went on well,

As the pleas'd verse may freely tell;

And the young Doctor ne'er complain'd

Of what he by his office gain'd.

But here we now shall change our road

And slip into an Episode;

It is a common way we know,

In which much better poets go:

Though pride will not suggest that we

Can be accus'd of poetry;

Yet we must own that, in our time,

We have stirr'd up some reams of Rhyme.

Howe'er that be, we now must come

To steer our Hero's walks from home.

Among the few who sought the aid

Of Anodyne's more secret trade,

Was one who sent a written case

Which did his various symptoms trace:

Thus, when the Quack prepar'd the dose,

Quæ Genus took it snug and close:

He only knew the cordial sent,

To whom address'd, and where it went:

Besides it was his daily task

Questions of import grave to ask.

How was his pulse? How had he slept?

If tremors o'er the system crept?

With such enquiries as our verse

Might feel it awkward to rehearse.

Of that no more, the patient's name
Was Woodlands, known in rural fame:
Through early years, a sportsman he,
The flower of hunting chivalry;
Was rich, and as he well was able,
Saw jovial sportsmen round his table,
Drank hard and lov'd the evening glee,
With those who drank as hard as he.
But gout, with other ills came on,
And jovial life was pass'd and gone:
Health's active season now was o'er,
When he could hunt and feast no more.
He sold his hounds and took a wife,
To soothe the latter years of life;
But they were few, as we shall see,
In spite of care and Quackery.
She was a Belle of rural fame,
Who gave her troth and bore his name:
Whate'er had been her hopes and views
When she did an old husband chuse,
The knowledge we do not profess,
But leave the gen'rous mind to guess.
At all events, her outward mien,
As it should be had always been,
Nor had a jealous eye suspected
Her duty had been e'er neglected.
But as infirm he now was grown,
At her desire, he came to town
To seek Physicians of renown.		}
He first had one, he then had two,
But their prescriptions did not do;
When still her care prevail'd, and she
Another sought, so he had three;
And no more good seem'd to be done,
Than if he had been seen by none.
—Thus matters stood, nay he grew worse
When an old busy, chattering nurse,
Talk'd of the cures, almost divine,
Of our friend Doctor Anodyne.
The drowning catch at any reed,
And all is help in desp'rate need:
Thus the rich man propos'd to try
The boasted aid of Quackery,
And what he wish'd, Amelia said,
With anxious smile, must be obey'd.
—Thus then it is, as we have seen,
Quæ Genus has the attendant been;
But now we are about to see
What a snug Proteus he can be.
The Lady, to his great surprise,
Oft view'd him with enquiring eyes,
And did a kind attention show
Which he thought queer she should bestow,
But he soon found the matter out;
Madam herself clear'd up the doubt,
As, in her Boudoir's still recess,
She did her quiet thoughts express.
In a soft, pleasant tone she spoke,
As half in earnest half in joke;
But as she thus her mind unveil'd,
It might be seen what thought prevail'd.
"There's something in your air and face
That tells me you will not disgrace
The trust which I now wish to place		}
In your obedience to my will;
And if you do that trust fulfil,
If you act up to my intent,
Quæ Genus never shall repent."
—His fingers on his lips he press'd,
He clos'd his hands upon his breast;
With most submissive air he bow'd,
And secresy he swore and vow'd;
When Madam Woodlands thus proceeded:
(I scarce need add that she succeeded.)
"You do a Doctor's business ply;
Now do not stare,—for so do I:
There is a pale-fac'd patient too
Whose certain cure I have in view,
And I've a med'cine that will prove
Specific,—as he's sick of love;
It will, in time, set all at ease,
And cure the pangs of his disease;
For no prescription can be better
Than that contain'd within this letter,
Which you, my friend, must understand
To give into the patient's hand.
Believe me too, when you are told,
You'll find it worth its weight in gold.
—There is," she said, "a smile I see
Now stealing on your gravity;
But know, Quæ Genus I do nought
That is with base dishonour fraught;
My whims, though secret, common-sense
Will clothe in garb of innocence."—
In short, but not without a fee,
He took the balmy recipe,
And ev'ry time he bore a letter
The patient's case was growing better.
Thus fortune kindly did bestow
Two strings to our keen Hero's bow;
And to his wishes, in good troth,
He reap'd no common gains from both.
—But here, another lucky hour
Did on his hopes new promise pour:
For Madam Woodlands more than hinted,
If, in his present projects stinted,
He should no longer wish to shine
With Quackery and Anodyne,
He might, by her all-fav'ring grace,
Attain her household's highest place.
He saw, and not by way of whim,
This was the very place for him;
But still he felt he could not quit,
As in a momentary fit,
That state he to the Doctor ow'd,
And which such benefit bestow'd;
Then, without proper warning, leave him,
Or with some scurvy tale deceive him,
He saw in any point of view
That honour prompts, it would not do.
Thus, in a state of constant doubt,
He scarce knew what he was about,
And to the daily patients gave
Their med'cines just as chance would have.
To all diseases waiting there
He did not e'en appear to care
What was the complaint or where,		}
If it was fever or the gout;
But left each dose to find it out.
—Thus strange indeed, but it appear'd
The healing shop would soon be clear'd,
The patients calmly pass'd away;
Nay, some of them were rather gay,
And fees forsook th' impoverish'd day.		}
When this change our Quæ Genus saw,
He thought awhile and felt an awe,
When it struck sudden on his sense,
That his so wicked negligence,
Had caus'd, perhaps, the final doom
Of many an inmate of the room;
But, on a fearful search, he found,
Not one of them was under ground,
Nay, that by giving med'cines wrong,
He did their precious lives prolong;
At least no harm they had endur'd,
For by his blund'ring they were cur'd.
Shrewd Anodyne, of course, suspected
That his prime bus'ness was neglected;
Indeed he clearly understood
Quæ Genus did more harm than good,
And therefore, without much delay,
Hinted in a good-humour'd way,
"You're tir'd, my friend, as it appears,
(Of which I've sometime had my fears)
You're tir'd of the Galenic Art;
'Twere better, therefore, that we part."
Quæ Genus made a calm reply,
With acquiescing modesty:
Nor was a harsh, unpleasant word
From these dissolving Doctors, heard.
In truth, each party was good-hearted;
So they shook hands and thus they parted.

Our Proteus now is seen to grace

Another and a favour'd place;

The confidential servant he

In 'Squire Woodlands' family:

But the poor 'Squire was hast'ning fast

To that sad hour which prov'd his last;

For soon, alas, the fatal gout

Got in his head, and let life out;

When Madam made a quick retreat

From town to the fine country seat

Which now was her's, with all the rest

Of the great wealth which he possess'd.

What tears the widow'd Lady shed

In sorrow o'er her husband dead,

Whether as they her cheeks bedew'd,

They flow'd from grief or gratitude;

How calm or poignant was her woe,

We tell not, for we do not know.

Yet this we can with safety tell,

Because we surely know it well,

That through her husband's sickly life

She was a tender nurse and wife.

—But now another scene appears,

Dispers'd her grief, dried up her tears;

Rich as she was and still a beauty,

She look'd to change her line of duty;

'Twas Nature's act, as all will see

Who read her little history.

In earlier years, ere she was led
By Hymen to the marriage bed,
Valcour and she each other lov'd,
But their fond passion hopeless prov'd.
—She was high-bred with fortune small,
And his Commission was his all:
For though he was of ancient line
And did with noble virtues shine,
He was the youngest child of nine;		}
And ere her marriage rites were o'er
He sought renown on India's shore.
What he thus bravely sought he found,
And once more trod on British ground,
With that, but little else beside,
A month before Old Woodlands died.
He let her hear that still he lov'd,
She wrote, nor said she disapprov'd;
That was the recipe to cure
The doubts his bosom might endure;
In which Quæ Genus was employ'd,
And caus'd the good he now enjoy'd.
—But then she acted with discretion;
As her fond husband's sole possession
She would not, at his last, allow
The promise of a future vow:
She felt her tender inclination,
As a reversionary passion
She must not own for him she lov'd,
Till Death each hindrance had remov'd.
For due decorum she obey'd,
And the sage widow's period stay'd;
Nor till Time pull'd the Hatchment down,
Did she her Valcour's wishes crown:
But crown'd they were; a splendid show
Did Fortune on the rites bestow,
When Hymen call'd on Love to shower
Its roses o'er the nuptial bower.
Quæ Genus did the sports contrive
Which kept the country-folk alive,
And all the scatter'd bounties flow'd
As his disposing hand bestow'd,
Nor did one over-curious mind
Suspect that any lurk'd behind.
Nay, it was order'd to his care
The gen'ral figure to prepare
That was to blaze in Portman-Square.		}
He, who had sometime form'd the plan
To set up for a Gentleman,
Well knew the purse alone could aid
The progress of that pretty trade,
And now had learn'd, quite at his ease,
To take the upper servant's fees,
Which to fulfil his growing aim,
In a resistless plenty came.
—Valcour was grand, his Eastern Taste
Was not dispos'd to run to waste;
Madam had never yet made known
Her beauty to th' admiring town,
And ready wealth was now at hand
Their mutual wishes to command:
Plutus with Fashion standing by
Impatient languish'd to supply
Each wish of glowing luxury.		}
The tonish trade display'd its store
Where our Quæ Genus kept the door;
In various forms, a numerous host
All strove who should affect him most,
And by what tempting means engage,
His trusty, promis'd patronage.

with a spendthrift

Drawn by Rowlandson

Quæ Genus with a Spendthrift.

Whene'er enquiry makes a stir

To trace the human character,

The strict and scrutinising eye

Must look for human frailty,

And will perceive as on we range,

Our dispositions prone to change,

Nor like the features of the face,

Fix'd on their first-born, native place.

So many tempting Sirens play

Their games to lead the heart astray,

So many gay temptations smile

The wav'ring prudence to beguile;

So many worldly interests wake

The pliant feelings to forsake

And wander from the beaten road

In which they hitherto have trod;

That reason from her judgement-seat

Must, with a tender rigour, treat

The venial errors of the mind,

And in severity be kind.

—Our Hero an example shews

To ask the candour we propose,

For he, we are compell'd to own,

Had given his thoughts a different tone.

As we have said, it was his plan

To be a future Gentleman,

And that he only could attain

By seizing all the means to gain

An added heap to that same store

Which luck'ly he possess'd before.

He, therefore, now had laid aside

Those scruples which his boasted pride

Maintain'd against the retail sense

Of the shrewd Grocer's eloquence,

While, with Sir Jeffery Gourmand, he

Preserv'd such pure fidelity.

—And here it should not be forgot

That it was Molly's happy lot,

By some keen plan which he had laid,

To be the Lady's fav'rite maid:

For Molly he sincerely lov'd,

And was with gen'rous passion mov'd;

Nay, when his project he should carry,

He had engag'd the maid to marry:

Thus she was well prepar'd to join

In forwarding the main design;

Which as it may, perhaps, appear

From the surmises hinted here,

Was never, never to refuse

What custom offer'd as their dues,

And all the op'ning hand of chance

Might gather from extravagance.

How far this system may succeed

Will soon be seen by those who read.

This Valcour was a noble creature,

Splendid and gen'rous in his nature;

Nor had these feelings been decreas'd

By the profusion of the East,

Which he from well-earn'd station shar'd;

But honour was his chief reward.

He no amass'd Pagodas brought

Whence treasures are so often sought:

Yet he, the favour'd lot of few,

As they bright fortune's track pursue,

Though India gave him mod'rate store,

Found plenteous wealth on Britain's shore.

—Full many a well fought field he try'd,

And Mars beheld his course with pride,

Nay bade the wreath of triumph glow

The Hero's pride, upon his brow,

While Knighthood's pointed star express'd

The tinsel glitter on his breast.

But Venus, who such things disposes

Chang'd all the laurel into roses;

And Hymen did his state enfold

In saffron mantle, rich with gold.

As Nature in its fancies varies,

Sir Charles indulg'd in his vagaries,

With a wild love of shew and figure;

Yet still he was resolv'd with rigour,

A line of prudence to pursue

And keep discretion in his view.

Full droll indeed it may appear

But thus he chose to persevere:

Not to run out was all that he

Consider'd as œconomy;

If his rents answer'd what he spent

He'd bless his stars and be content;

But never did his views appear

To look upon the coming year.

Nor e'er did he his mind distress

To know if he could live on less:

Nay at the thought how he would laugh,

When told that he could live on half,

And felt affront, if 'twere repeated

That by his servants he was cheated.

—Such a receipt to pamper ruin

Nay to hurry an undoing,

Has seldom given so queer a chance

To gratify extravagance.

—But so it was—Quæ Genus thought

Just as the rising fancy taught:

While, in mock fashion's borrow'd pride,

Molly was seated by his side.

Now as her needle made its way

Some 'broider'd figure to display,

Thinking, perhaps, how well her art

Gave semblance to a two-fold heart;

He fondly call'd her willing ear

With all attention due to hear.