Lawyer Make-peace.

'You have good friends whom you can trust,

Who to misfortune will be just,

They will, I doubt not, let you know,

How you must act and what to do.

And much I think you have been wrong,

To have with-held your pen so long.

Obey me now in all I've said;

Be secret and be not afraid.'

"He spoke, and, in the kindest way,

Urg'd me to make no more delay;

And when I sought to give the fee;

'No, no,' he said, 'to such as thee

For mere good words I'm never paid;—

This is my way of plying trade.

When you have made a fair escape

From this unlucky, wretched scrape,

And when you are again restor'd

To your own happy bed and board;

When from all thraldom you are free,

Then, if it suits, remember me.'

"My notes were sew'd up in my coat,

For Julep would not take a groat.

'When you reach home,' he kindly said;

'Like his friend Make-peace, I'll be paid.'

Thus I set off, as was my plan,

Guis'd as a trudging, trav'lling man,

And in his journey going on

To seek his fate in London town.

My needfuls in an oil-cloth sack,

Were buckled to my wretched back,

And late at night when the full moon

In an unclouded brightness shone,

I left those gen'rous friends behind

Which such as me so seldom find:

A Galen, with that goodness fraught,

Who gave his skill and drugs for nought;

And an attorney, whose great aim

Was to put roguery to shame;

Nay, whose superior virtues tell

The Law can shew a Miracle.

"You must, Sir Jeff'ry, often see
The strange effects of vanity;
Another you will find in me.		}
You'll scarce believe as I relate
The folly which I now must state:
That I've been such a silly elf
I now can scarce believe myself:
And I could wish I dare conceal
What duty bids me to reveal.
—Did not calm prudence whisper now
To my existing state to bow,
To tell it all to such a friend
As I had found in Doctor Bend,
Or a quick pilgrimage to make
To Worthy-Hall beside the Lake,
Where, for dear Doctor Syntax' sake,		}
The troubled Foundling would receive
All that protecting care could give.
This was the counsel Make-peace gave,
A lawyer who was not a knave;
Who would advise without a fee,
And felt for human misery.
—This Reason said in lessons strong,
As I pac'd my still way along,
When the dull sound of my own feet
And Philomela's sonnet sweet
Did on the gen'ral silence break,
And seem'd to keep the night awake.
Then Vanity sat pick-a-pack
Perch'd on the hump upon my back,
And whisper'd into either ear,
'Such humbling counsels do not hear.
Where poor Quæ Genus has been known
His alter'd form must ne'er be shown:
With this sad shape he never can
Hold himself forth a gentleman:
No art can furnish you a cloak
To hide from pity or from joke.
If passing on a river's ridge,
Or, perchance lolling o'er a bridge,
You gaze upon the stream below
Whose crystal mirror's seen to flow,
Would not the picture meet your eye
Of your own sad deformity?
At Oxford you would be the talk
Of the High-street or Christ-Church-walk,
While many quizzing fools look round
To view your rising back begown'd.
—How would you bear the wond'ring ken
Of the good folk of Sommerden,
While they with pitying looks lament
The once straight form, but now so bent!
Then leave the world where you have been,
Where I would be no longer seen,
Nor let the jealous eye compare,
What you once was with what you are.
Might I advise, I'd sooner die
Unknown, in humble privacy,
Again,' said whisp'ring vanity,		}
'Than e'er appear where I was known
For graces which were then my own,
That pity or that scorn might point
At such a form, so out of joint.'
"I need not say how many days
I sought the bye and secret ways,
For ever list'ning to the tongue
That whisper'd soft and pleaded strong,
To set each better feeling wrong.		}
Hence I resign'd myself to chance,
Left fortune, friends, inheritance,
And madly felt that I was hurl'd
Thus mark'd to wander through the world.
To snatch at, and at once receive,
Whate'er the world might chance to give.
'Twas not a whimsy of the brain,
That did the idle scheme sustain,
'Twas something which I can't explain.		}
All feeling center'd in the pack
That had thus risen on my back;
And as I felt the burden there,
It seem'd the seat of ev'ry care,
Of ev'ry painful thought brimfull,
Like Old Pandora's Ridicule.
But as every single note
Which I from Gripe-all's grasp had got,
Was still secure within my coat,		}
I had sufficient means and more
To travel all the kingdom o'er
With staff in hand, and well-shod feet,
And oil'd umbrella form'd to meet
The show'rs that might my passage greet.		}
One pocket did a bible hold,
The other held the story told,
Which good Æneas did rehearse
To Dido, in immortal verse;
While from a loop before descended
A flute that oft my hours befriended:
Thus I with verse, with prose or fist,
Was scholar, fiddler, methodist.
As fit occasion might demand,
I could let Scripture Phrase off-hand,
Or fine re-sounding verses quote,
Or play a tune in lively note.
Thus qualified to cut and carve,
I need not fear that I should starve;
While in some future lucky stage
Of my uncertain pilgrimage,
I might have hopes, remov'd from strife,
To be a fixture for my life.

"Such was the wild, fantastic scheme

Such was the strange distracted dream,

That, stranger still, rose from the pack

Which chance had fix'd upon my back.

Of friends forgetful, 'twas my plot

That I by friends should be forgot.—

I seem'd to wish that I were thrown

Upon some island yet unknown,

Where crooked figure is the feature

Of all the living, reas'ning nature;

And where deformity would be

A shape of perfect symmetry;

Which Swift would not have fail'd to spare,

Had his bold fancy wander'd there,

And Lemuel Gulliver had been

The visitor of such a scene.

"In this same state I wander'd on,

Grumbling and doubting and alone,

Though some encouragement I met

Which made me whilom cease to fret;

For, tales I hap'd by chance to know

And pleasant fancies I could show,

With which my active mind was stor'd,

Had sometimes paid my bed and board;

Nay, had prolong'd my welcome stay

Throughout a grave or lively day.

"One evening by a riv'let's side

That did in gentle murmurs glide,

Where the green turf its carpet spread,

And willow boughs wav'd o'er my head,

I sat reclin'd, nor was my flute,

As I could wake its music, mute:

When a huge waggon pass'd along,

And soon a chorus join'd the song.

Invited by the social strain,

I rose and sought the jocund train;

Men, women, children, all so gay,

Who loudly cheer'd the tedious way.

The cargo which the waggon bore

Were modern times and those of yore;

The image of each living scene,

And of such things as ne'er had been:

Witches and goblins, clouds and skies

Deck'd out in their varieties,

The river's flow, the ocean's waves,

The crowns of kings, the bonds of slaves,

Helmets and mitres, robes and arms,

Terrific forms, and beauty's charms,

All mov'd along, together hurl'd,

Th' outfittings of a mimic world:

When what with spouting, what with song,

As the procession trudg'd along,

No cunning was required to see,

It was a strolling company,

Who were proceeding to make known

Their talents in a neighb'ring town.

Here a strange thought occur'd that I

Might try my powers in Tragedy;

While the vain fancy was possess'd

I might appear among the best:

In short among them I display'd

An earnest of the acting trade.

The bills were blazon'd with my name,

A candidate for scenic fame,

And 'twas announc'd that Mr. Page

Would first appear on any stage.

The part which I of course preferr'd

Was Shakespear's well known R. the Third.

I wanted not the wardrobe's aid,

My crook-back was already made;

My form disdain'd the aid of art,

And thus I play'd the tyrant's part:

But from my being thus disjoin'd,

To this same part I was confin'd.

Though by this outfit I must own

I could perform the awkward clown,

Or any other hunch-back fellow,

A Pantaloon, or Punchinello,

Where white and red be-mark'd my face,

And excellence was my disgrace:

For here I shrunk beneath the pack

That fate had nail'd upon my back.

"I wish'd to figure as Othello,
But he was a fine, straight-made fellow,
Whom, with a shape, so crook'd, so bent,
I could not dare to represent,
And though his face was olive brown,
No injury his form had known;
While mine, in its unseemly guise,
Fair Desdemona must despise:
Nor could it be a bard's design,
That love-sick maids should e'er incline
To such an outrag'd shape as mine.		}
My voice possess'd a tender strain,
That could express a lover's pain;
But such a figure never yet
Was seen to win a Juliet.
Nay ladies lolling in a box,
Would think it a most curious hoax,
If through their glasses they should see
Lord Townly such an imp as me.
Thus for a month or more, Jack Page
Fretted and strutted on the stage,
Sometimes affording Richard's figure
In all its native twist and vigour;
Or bearing kick, or smack, or thump
From Harlequin upon his hump.
Though I say not, I was ill-paid
For the fine acting I display'd.
Nay, had I less mis-shapen been,
I might to the Theatric scene,
Have turn'd my strange life's future views,
And courted the Dramatic Muse.

"But as I could not smooth my shape

From the hips upwards to the nape,

And as to so confin'd a round

My imitative powers were bound,

My Genius I resolv'd to try

In writing Farce or Comedy,

In which I could exert my art

For my dear self to form a part

Wherein the keen, applauding eye

Might dwell on my deformity,

And where the picture might beguile

The judgement to afford a smile.

—When this same work I had perform'd

My vanity was rather warm'd.

'Humour,' 'twas said, 'the piece discovers,'

And it was call'd, 'The Crooked Lovers.'

"I think, Sir Jeff'ry you may guess,
The plot my Farce aims to possess,—
A kind of praise of ugliness;		}
Where Beauty is not seen to charm,
Nor fill the heart with fond alarm;
Where finest eyes may gleam in vain,
May wake no joy, or give no pain:
And though the beaming smiles may grace
The rosy bloom of Delia's face,
Here they excite no am'rous passion,
Nor call forth tender inclination:
Such the desire, that ev'ry day,
Amuses Cupid when at play,
But other objects must engage
The scenes I offer'd to the stage:
Lame legs, club feet, and blinking eyes,
With such like eccentricities,
Call'd forth my amorous desire,
And set my actors all on fire.
With me no Damon longs to sip
The sweets of Cath'rine's pouting lip,
But smoke-dried Strephon seeks the bliss
Of a well-guarded, snuffy kiss,
Where the long nose, delightful wonder,
Scarce from the chin can keep asunder;
Where lovers' hearts ne'er feel a thump,
But when they view each other's hump.

"Now here again I was o'erthrown

By a crook-back, and not my own;

The May'rs gay wife, whose back appears

Upon a level with her ears,

Was pleas'd at first that I had prov'd

She was an object to be lov'd;

But as the Parish Parson too,

With a small form was quite askew,

And as, when it was pleasant weather,

This pair would take a walk together,

Would saunter through the winding glade,

Or sit beneath the beechen shade;

And, as it seem'd, were never cloy'd

With tender converse so enjoy'd;

It hap'd some Critic keen discovers

Whom I meant by 'The Crooked Lovers.'

The May'ress call'd th' obedient Mayor

To frown from magisterial chair,

And with the terrors of his mace

To drive my Hunch-back from the place;—

And on the high-road I once more

Was trav'lling as I did before.

"To you, Sir, it was never known
To feel the state which I must own:
No home, not knowing where to go,
How I should act and what to do.
Just as a ship whose rudder's lost,
Nor within sight of any coast;
Without the power to stand the shock
Of tempest, or to shun the rock.
From the strange nature of my birth,
I knew no relative on earth,
Nor to my giddy thoughts was given
To look with any hope to Heaven.
To London I propos'd to go,
Where not a being did I know:
To me it was an unknown shore,
Where I had never been before,
At least, since of all care bereft,
I was a helpless Foundling left.
Thus, as I thought, behold I stood,
Beside a mill-dam's spreading flood;
The waters form'd to drive the mill
With its tremendous wheel, stood still,
While evening glimmer'd on the hill.		}
One plunge I said and all is o'er,
My hopes and fears will be no more;
An unknown child, an unknown man,
And I shall end as I began.
Nor can I say what would have follow'd,
I, and my hump, might have been swallow'd
In the deep, wat'ry gulph beneath,
Had I not heard a hautbois breath
A lively, but an uncouth strain,
As it appear'd from rustic swain,
Which, as it dwelt upon my ear,
Told me that merriment was near,
And did at once dispel the gloom
That might have sought a wat'ry tomb.
I turn'd my footsteps tow'rds the sound
That was now heard the valley round;
When soon upon the rural green,
The sight of busy mirth was seen.

with the sheep-shearers

Drawn by Rowlandson

Quæ Genus at a sheep shearing.

"With sights like these, I had been us'd

In early days to be amus'd

When I but wav'd my boyish hand

The rural groupes obey'd command,

When ev'ry rustic feast I grac'd

And was in highest station plac'd,

Though I did to no name aspire,

Yet I was nam'd the youthful 'Squire,

For Madam Syntax sake was shown

The honour which was not my own.

But now, such was my fortune's change,

A wand'rer I was left to range

I scarce knew where, and doom'd to wait

For what might be my future fate.

Thus I approach'd the busy throng,

And when I heard the joyous song,

Though, with a mingled sense of pain,

My flute pour'd forth a doubtful strain.

—'Twas a sheep-shearing that employ'd

The festive toil which all enjoy'd,

And I was welcom'd to receive

The bounties that the feast could give;

And while I did my carols play,

With flowers the maidens made me gay,

And as they gave my back a thump,

Each stuck a nosegay on my hump.

Here I must own, there's no concealing,

These compliments attack'd my feeling,

And I was deck'd out in a part,

Which on my back, was near my heart;

Yet, as sweet smiles shew'd the intent

That no offensive thought was meant,

I, with kind words and sprightly tune

Strove to repay the fragrant boon.

—The yeoman, master of the feast,

Was kind, and own'd me as his guest,

And as he view'd each added fleece

That did his summer wealth encrease,

He joyous made the toast go round

To the song's animating sound,

While the patient ewes grown light,

And eas'd of all their fleecy weight,

No more the shearer's hand restrain

But bound off to their hills again.

Such was the scene that did awhile

My bosom of its cares beguile,

For he must have a wretched heart

To whom those joys no joy impart,

Which others are beheld to feel

And to th' attentive eye reveal;

Nay, I must own that this night's pleasure,

Which revell'd in unbounded measure,

A kind, though short, oblivion shed

O'er my crook-back and thoughtful head:

Yes, brief it was, for soon again

My pleasure yielded to my pain,

And all the jocund, festive folly

Was then restor'd to melancholy.

The ale was good, my draughts were deep,

And, overcome by sudden sleep,

Upon a chair my head repos'd,

And soon my eyes were soundly clos'd.

Th' Exciseman, a smart, parish wit,

Thought he could make a funny hit,

And with his ochre red and black,

Drew a fierce face upon my back,

The thought, at least, was not quite civil,

With all the emblems of the devil.

He had display'd his humour's art

Upon a very tender part,

At least, my pride, as you must know,

Had to my fancy made it so.

When, by the roar caus'd by the joke,

I from the slumb'ring fit awoke;

Soon did I make th' Exciseman sick

Of such a mortifying trick:

His gauging-rod was heard to crack

In many a stroke upon his back,

Till, by his supplicating tone,

I found I had aveng'd my own.

But though the marks were brush'd with care,

By the same hand which trac'd them there;

And though I was most warmly prest,

By the kind master of the feast,

To pass another jovial day;

I felt offence and walk'd away.

"'Do what I can, go where I will,

This Hump's my evil genius still,

And serves in some odd way or other

My any sense of joy to smother.'

—Such was th' expression that my tongue

Would mutter as I trudg'd along.

—But Reason told me, cease your strife

With this companion of your life;

'Tis fix'd as fate, and you must wear it,

Therefore with resignation bear it.

It is, I own, an ugly tumour,

But you should treat it with good humour,

And still be pleas'd you cannot trace

Any mis-givings on your face.

The change you surely would not try

For a lame leg or squinting eye:

Though somewhat out of line your figure,

You still enjoy Health's active vigour:

All's right before, so never mind

A certain awkwardness behind;

For sure, when you present your front,

No eye can see a blemish on't.

With merry and good-humour'd folk,

Treat it, Oh treat it as a joke,

And if, by chance, you meet a fool

Who turns it into ridicule,

Tell him you'd rather have the feature,

Coarse as it is, than his ill-nature.

Take care that none who know you, find

An awkward hump within your mind:

Oh, let it be your constant care

To banish disproportion there,

And you will laugh with friends who crack

Chance-medley jokes upon your back!

assisting a traveller

Quæ Genus assisting a Traveller.

"To Reason I attention lent;
Th' advice was good,—and, strait or bent,
I now resolv'd to be content.		}
"Thus, as I urg'd my onward way,
In spirits rather growing gay,
With saddle bags and all alone,
A sprightly horse came trotting on,
As if he had his rider thrown.		}
The beast I, with some trouble, caught,
And then its fallen master sought,
Whom, within half a mile I found
All pale and stretch'd upon the ground:
When I approach'd, as in surprise,
He gave a groan and op'd his eyes.
A crystal brook ran murm'ring by,
Its cooling fluid to supply,
And soon its sprinklings did afford
The power that banish'd strength restor'd.
Thus, when re-mounted on his steed,
We did, in progress slow, proceed:
I cautious pac'd it by his side
With tighten'd rein the horse to guide;
And with attentive eye, prevent
Another downfall accident.
"We might have gone a mile or more,
When we beheld a lofty tower
That did in stately form arise,
A welcome sight to anxious eyes,
Marking a spot where might be found
Some styptic to a bleeding wound.
I shall be brief,—the Horseman's head
Was soon repos'd on downy bed;
The Surgeon came and he was bled:		}
The lancet was by blisters follow'd,
And potions, in due order, swallow'd.
He look'd his thanks, then squeez'd my hand,
Bade me, what gold could pay, command;
Of all I wish'd to take my fill,
Enjoy myself, nor fear the bill.
I took my patient at his word,
And what the Blue Bell could afford,
(An Inn of good repute and worth,
Well known to all who travel North,)
As it was his desire, enjoy'd,
Till with good living I was cloy'd.
But his sick bed I did amuse,
I told him tales and read the news;
So that with emphasis he swore
He almost griev'd his ills were o'er.

"As near, I think, as I can tell,

A fortnight pass'd ere he was well;

When he thus wish'd me to make known

How his best thanks could best be shown.—

"'I now may tell, my saddle-bags

Held a rich bundle of those rags

Which, from the Bank, are issued forth,

As we all know, of precious worth,

And might have been a certain prize

Had they been seen by knavish eyes.

A rogue would have possess'd the steed,

And with his mettle and his speed,

Have sought a spot, where, at his leisure,

He might have rummag'd all my treasure;

Nay, been in town before the post

Could have made known what I had lost,

And, on some artful trick's reliance,

Have set discovery at defiance:

When I, here sitting sad and stewing,

Might have been pond'ring o'er my ruin:

While, from your noble, gen'rous dealing,

I feel a joy there's no revealing.

"'A Trav'ller is the name I bear,
A well-known, useful character,
Who, through the kingdom's wide-stretch'd bounds,
Ne'er fails to make his yearly rounds.
I for a London house of trade
Employ my necessary aid,
By which its commerce I extend
From Dover to the far Land's End.
Well mounted, or perhaps in chaise,
We quietly pursue our ways;
Lift our heads high, and look so grand
When we have payments to demand,
But bow, and handsome speeches give
When we have orders to receive:
Thus suiting manners, as you see
To our commercial policy.
Nay, when the busy day is o'er,
We meet at night, perhaps a score;
And, in return, give our commands
To humble host, who cringing stands,
In order to prepare the best
For the be-bagg'd and trav'lling guest,
And bring us wine to aid our cheer;
While, with stump'd pens behind the ear,
Good folks in town may drink their beer—		}
Nay, may be boasting of our labours
In smoking clubs of sober neighbours.

"'To what the London Mart supplies,

We give our wings and off it flies:

Thus knowledge, taste, and every fashion

Find a quick way throughout the nation,

And all the wants of high and low

We with a ready zeal bestow.

—The beauties of improving art

We scatter round in every part,

And diff'rent districts of the isle

In our communications smile.

To learning we distribute books,

And sauces to the country cooks:

Nay, none there are who will refuse

The town-made blacking for their shoes:

On Shetland legs its lustre glows

As on the boots of Bond-street beaux.

Where is the Miss, or where the Maid

Who does not ask our frequent aid?

At city ball or country fair

Our visits are apparent there;

And but for us, the summer races

Would be despoil'd of half their graces.

In short, as ev'ry eye may see,

The kingdom is one gallery;

That its abundant uses owes

To what the Traveller bestows.

Hence it is not a vain pretence

That we may make to consequence,

Who, by our turns and windings, strive

To make this flying commerce thrive:

Too happy when we carry home

Bags of Bank rags for which we roam:

Nay, I may think I owe to you,

That mine are safe within my view,

And any wish I will obey,

Which to my power you may convey.'

"I seiz'd the time and told my tale,
At least, as much as might avail
Some settlement in town to find,
That suited both my means and mind;
When by advice, and, which was better,
By a most urgent, friendly letter,
Arriv'd in London,—I soon found
I did not tread on hostile ground:
Nay, ere a week was pass'd and gone,
Fortune, I hop'd had ceas'd to frown,
As I did now a station own,		}
With promis'd comfort by my side,
That gave me gains, nor hurt my pride.
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
Quæ Genus, (such may be his end,)
To you, Sir Jeff'ry, as his friend."		}