His Farewell Speech.

"And now, I say, adieu, my friends,
For here our fellow-service ends.
You need not put on sorrowing faces;
You will soon meet with ready places;
'Tis me whose disappointing care,
Of cheering prospects, bids despair.
—You all, I'm sure can well believe,
I have most ample cause to grieve
That cruel Fortune thus should frown,
When I thought her fond smiles my own.
—Sir Jeffery now is laid in dust,
But when alive, how good, how just!
And all who knew him well must know
He never wish'd to use me so.
Had he believ'd his end so nigh,
I should have had the legacy,
Which would have made me full amends
For loss of fortune, loss of friends.
Another day had he surviv'd,
To the next morning had he liv'd,
It might, perhaps, have been my fate
To know an independent state,
As he had told me, o'er and o'er,
I ne'er should go to service more.
When I did on his wants attend
He spoke as a familiar friend:
How often too we might be seen
Chatting within the Indian screen!
Whenever we were left alone,
We seem'd not two, but were as one.
I knew each tit-bit that he lov'd;
He always what I gave approv'd;
And as I stood beside his chair,
Attending with respectful air,
He oft would bid me sit and dine,
Fill up his glass and pour out mine.
—When thumb and finger he applied
To the gold snuff box by his side,
I shar'd the pinch, and he ne'er ceas'd
To say, 'God bless you,' when I sneez'd;
Nay, when my snortings I repeated,
He thus my awkward flurry greeted,
'My friend, familiarize your nose
To this exhilarating dose,
For sure as we together dine
This box, Quæ Genus, shall be thine!'
But that kind friend, alas! is dead,
And box and snuff and all are fled.
Nay, had I now a hope on earth,
And could engage in trifling mirth,
I here might my complainings close
With disappointments of my nose.
—His common purse I could command,
'Twas daily open to my hand;
You all well know I paid his bills,
And when, to ease his various ills,
Sir Midriff came, I us'd to squeeze
Into his palm the welcome fees.
Whene'er I showed my weekly book,
He never gave the page a look;
And when I urg'd it the good Knight
Would smile and say, 'I'm sure 'tis right.'
Nay, I can say, in ev'ry sense,
I ne'er abus'd his confidence:
No, no, I never did purloin
An atom of the lowest coin,
And what I have to Heaven is known,
In honest truth, to be my own,
Then wonder not, I feel it hard,
To be depriv'd of my reward,
And, by such a chance, be hurl'd
Again to struggle with the world.
Reasons, besides, I must not tell,
Why the Knight treated me so well;
But I play'd no delusive part,
And they did honour to his heart:
Of that heart, had he left a share,
As well as fortune to his heir,
I need not now indulge despair."		}

"Mr. Quæ Genus, never fear,"

The Coachman said, "your spirits cheer!

Dame Fortune has look'd down 'tis plain,

But the jade may look up again:

'Tis true that dev'lish oyster-pie

Fell souse upon the legacy:

E'en so it was, I cannot doubt it,

But I would think no more about it.

You so well know your P's and Q's,

That you have but to pick and chuse.

I speak the truth, there are but few

Mr. Quæ Genus, such as you:

And though the merchant will not give

The bounty which you should receive,

What though he would not spare a farthing

To save a soul of us from starving,

Good names he'll give us, as he ought,

For they we know will cost him nought;

'Twere better therefore to be civil,

And hold the candle to the Devil,

For we as servants cannot stir

Without a show of character.

—As you perceive, I'm not a chick,

And know enough to make one sick:

Nay, somewhat my experience lends,

To guess at this world's odds and ends.

I've been in many curious places;

I've serv'd my Lords,—and serv'd their Graces;

And, which gives work of more ado,

I've even serv'd my Ladies too:

I knew to shut or ope my eyes,

To see strange things, nor look surprise.

Sometimes good-luck has given a lift,

And sometimes, I've been turn'd adrift;

But should I live to Judgement-day,

No, I will never fail to say,

That I ne'er so much comfort knew,

As since this house was rul'd by you.

—Now, when you get an upper place,

Which soon, I'm sure, must be the case,

If then your favour will contrive,

I should my Lord or Lady drive,

For I the reins can handle true

Of pairs, of fours, and sixes too,

I promise, nay, my word engages

To give you poundage from my wages.

—I know you're gen'rous, kind and free,

But here you will accord with me,

That interest has a powerful weight

Both with the little and the great:

You see it well by what is past,

Since your fine plan is overcast.

I do not wish to give offence,

But interest is common sense,

And he who does not look to that,

Mr. Quæ Genus, is a Flat."

The blunt, rough Coachman, said no more:
When Molly's fine black eyes ran o'er:
The Cook look'd grave, and Betty sigh'd,
The Kitchen-maid sat still and cried,
While Thomas not a word replied.—		}
Quæ Genus, not to be remiss,
Gave to each maid a friendly kiss,
And when he whisper'd his adieu
To charming Molly, he gave two:
Perhaps, if they were counted o'er,
Her sweet lips might acknowledge more:
Then told her softly not to fear,
And kindly whisper'd in her ear,
"What e'er my lot, I will be true
To fond affection and to you."

Our gloomy Hero now departed,

And left the mansion heavy-hearted,

Where in such comfort he had liv'd,

Nor, till dismiss'd it, ever griev'd,

And, with a tardy step, retir'd

To a snug lodging he had hir'd.

Thus once again by Fortune thrown
On the wide world, and all alone,
Without th' appearance of a friend
On whose kind aid he could depend,
Quæ Genus pac'd his lonely floor
All to and fro and o'er and o'er,
Thinking what efforts might be made,
What stroke be struck, what game be play'd,
To place him in some active state
That promis'd to be fortunate.
One consolation he possest,
Which, though it did not charm to rest
The rising troubles of his breast,		}
Yet still, whatever might confound him,
Gave him full time to look around him,
And, on whatever project bent,
To weigh its views, and wait th' event.
For, though his purse might not run o'er,
He had a snug, sufficient store,
To keep his anxious spirits free
From any dread of penury,
And guard him amidst toils and strife,
Against the insidious smiles of life,
That do so often tempt the mind
To cast discretion far behind,
Or make it fearful hazards try,
Impell'd by dire necessity.
—He had not yet unripp'd his coat,
In which conceal'd lay every note
Which he from Gripe-all's clutches got:		}
A hoard on which he might depend,
When he look'd round nor saw a friend.
Besides, he had no trifle gain'd,
While with Sir Jeffery he remain'd;
For though, as has been lately said,
He never play'd a trick of trade;
Nor had he even thought it right
To take a valet's perquisite,
Nor e'er allow'd his hands to seize
The household steward's common fees,
But of the strict and rigid law
Of duty ever stood in awe.
—All this the Knight full well believ'd,
Nor could he think himself deceiv'd,
When once he answer'd to a friend,
Who did the young man's cares commend.
"That same Quæ Genus is so just
In all committed to his trust,
To his right notions such a slave,
He would not with a razor shave,
Nor use a strap, nor ply a hone,
He had not purchas'd as his own."—
Thus, as most worthy of his charge,
Sir Jeffery's annual pay was large,
And when th' allotted quarter came,
Something was added to his claim,
Which with such gen'rous grace was given,
It seem'd like Manna sent from Heaven!—
Besides, his wages, being high,
Encreas'd the gen'ral legacy,
Which he with all the household shar'd;
The last, and now his sole reward.

Thus so far independence brought

A'gleam of comfort on his thought;

He was not left on ruin's brink

To sit and sigh, and swear and think.

Two points alone he had in view,

He thought it hard they were but two;

Nor could he call his fortune kind

When they alone employ'd his mind:

These were the Doctors, won by fees

To make most bounteous promises;

And though these Galens might deny 'em,

He was at least resolv'd to try 'em;

And, if Sir Midriff should decline,

He would apply to Anodyne.

—The former, if he pleas'd, could well,

And with strict truth, his value tell:

For none with such experience knew

That he was active, honest, true,

And to his patient, well or ill,

Did ev'ry duteous care fulfil.

Nay, that it was the Knight's good pleasure

To speak of him as of a treasure.

Now, on his serious purpose bent,

He to Sir Midriff Bolus went;

But then, alas! as we shall see,

His face did not forebode a fee:

Nor did the great man smiling meet him,

Or with a tone familiar greet him,

As his keen humour us'd to do

When golden sovereigns were in view:

Nor did he take him by the hand,

As when it did the coin command.

He now put on a curious leer,

That said, "I pray, what brought you here?"

"I'm come to hope you'll condescend

To prove yourself my promis'd friend,"

Quæ Genus said, "and with this view,

I now present myself to you.

You told me, 'when your master's gone,

Look on my friendship as your own.'

He's gone, alas, I too well know,

To me a most affecting blow:

But still, I trust, I may engage

Your kind, protecting patronage,

And, among those of rank and wealth

Who make you guardian of their health,

Your favour may smile on my fate,

And I renew an household state,

Like that which crown'd my better days,

When I enjoy'd your frequent praise."

The Doctor now his suppliant ey'd,

And thus in hasty tone replied.

"Indeed I've something else to do

Than thus to be employ'd by you:

I'm in great haste and must away,

My patients wait, I cannot stay,

To hear you, your fine story tell:—

So, honest friend, I wish you well."—

—Thus when Sir Jeffery's fees were o'er

He thought not of Quæ Genus more.

Now, as he pac'd along the street,
Thus did he to himself repeat,
"Is this the fortune I must meet?		}
Is this the merited reward
Which they receive who strive to guard
Their hearts against the tempting guise
Of int'rest and its sorceries;
And say to Virtue, 'Maid divine!
Behold thy slave, I'm wholly thine!'
—It is not that I now repent,
Or harbour selfish discontent,
That I should hesitate to seize
The golden opportunities
Which were presented to my power,
Not ev'ry day, but ev'ry hour,
While with Sir Jeffery Gourmand I
Enjoy'd the means those arts to ply,
Which, by the curious eye unseen,
Might with such gains have pregnant been:
No, no, thank Heaven, I'm not embued
With that worst vice, Ingratitude;
An odious vice that is of kin
To every other mortal sin.
I felt his kindness, and where'er
My lot may be of pain and care,
Those kind reflections I possess
To make me smile in my distress,
That I ne'er for a moment swerv'd
From the best duties he deserv'd;
Nay, which he, to his closing days,
So often honour'd with his praise,—
And should it be my lot to find
Another master good and kind,
Whose gen'rous heart would condescend
To treat Quæ Genus as a friend,
This I may truly boast, that he
Should find an humble friend in me,
Whose soul is faithful loyalty!		}
I would the path of truth pursue
As I have long been us'd to do;
And where, howe'er oblig'd to bend
To pressing views, my wishes tend.
But, in this world of chance and change,
As it appears, I'm doom'd to range,
And I may be oblig'd to treat it
As it will be my lot to meet it.
I will not rob nor will I steal,
But from myself I'll not conceal
The secret purpose which I feel.		}
Commandments I will never break,
But when fair interest is at stake,
I'll follow in my future views
The conduct which the world pursues;
And when that principle I own,
The world will have no right to frown.
Thus whatsoe'er may be my station,
Where chance may fix my next vocation
I'll keep discretion in my view,
As prudent folk profess to do.
—But ere throughout the town at large
I look for some inviting charge,
Though with one Doctor I have fail'd,
Another now shall be assail'd;
Though brilliant prospects may not shine,
Yet I'll e'en go to Anodyne.
The Quack may prove a better friend
Than e'er Sir Midriff might intend;
At all events, howe'er perverse,
'Tis plain he cannot prove a worse;
Howe'er that be, I can but try."—
—Thus clos'd his thoughts' soliloquy.

Quæ Genus now pass'd up the Court

The sickly patient's still resort,

Where, in a corner quite retired,

The mansion stood which he desired,

Whose door, bedight with darksome green

And mouldings edg'd with black, is seen;

While letter'd gold appears to shine

And tell the name of Anodyne.

He touch'd the well-known tinkling-bell

That did some sickly presence tell,

When the door op'd with rapid force,

And patients glided in of course.

There was ne'er heard a knocker's sound,

To rouse the idle neighbours round,

Or to the windows call the eye

Of peeping curiosity.

The signal was not given twice;
Quæ Genus enter'd in a trice
And sought the solemn Doctor's nook,
Where he sat with a folio book,
Some ancient Galen's learned creed,
Which 'tis not certain he could read:
Alone, o'er this he gravely doz'd,
But when the sick arriv'd, he clos'd
The cumbrous volume, and gave ear
The tale of some distress to hear.
To Johnny this was no new scene,
For here he had full often been,
But as he fee-less ne'er before
Had hasten'd through the well-known door,
He felt some doubts within his mind
What sort of welcome he should find.
Sir Midriff's conduct it appears,
Had chang'd his promis'd hopes to fears;
And when he felt such rude disdain
From one who rul'd in Warwick-Lane,
Who boasted of superior knowledge
To all the learned of the College;
Who from his frequent promise swerv'd,
To one who his kind smiles deserv'd;
Yet ev'ry day, and ev'ry hour,
Possess'd the patronising power,
With mere commending words to gain
The boon Quæ Genus ask'd in vain;—
What good then could his hopes supply
From the low pride of quackery,
From one who rested his pretence
On nostrums and on impudence.
But he had felt that in Life's dance,
We often owe to strokes of chance,
That unexpected good prevail'd
Where Reason's better hopes have fail'd.
Such thoughts the purpose did incline
To make his bows to Anodyne.
The Doctor with a friendly air,
'Rose from his dictatorial chair,
And pleasure told to see him there:		}
When thus Quæ Genus in reply,
Began the following Colloquy.