"I'm a poor man, but yet can spell, And I lov'd Madam Syntax well: —But I've a sorry tale to tell.
}
Young 'Squire you're in the Devil's hands, Or one who yields to his commands, And who, I'm certain, would be bold In bloody deeds, if 'tis for gold. Halters he fears, but the base wretch Fears no one mortal but Jack Ketch: Yet what with quirks and such like flaws, He can contrive to cheat the laws: Though Madam's hand the will might sign, It is no more her will than mine. Some say, as she lay on her bed, The deed was sign'd when she was dead, And I've heard some one say, whose name I must not give to common fame, He'd lay ten pounds and say, 'have done,' You liv'd not on to twenty-one; And if you die before, 'tis known, That Madam's money's all his own. Nay, how he did the will compose, 'Tis Beelzebub alone who knows! He in a lonely mansion lives, But there the cunning villain thrives: Yes, he gets on, as it appears, By setting people by the ears: Though I have heard Nan Midwife say, Who sometimes travels late that way, That 'neath the yew, near the house wall, Where the dark ivy's seen to crawl, A cat she once saw which was half As big as any full-grown calf, And with her tail beat down the bushes, As if they were but slender rushes; Has often felt sulphureous steam, And seen bright lines of lightning gleam. These things the good, old woman, swears She sometimes smells and sees and hears, While thus all trembling with affright, She scarce can get her bald mare by't. —Run off, young 'Squire, for much I fear You'll be cut off, if you stay here. My service thus I do commend, From, Sir, your very humble friend: And hope you will take in good part, What comes from poor but honest heart!"
"This plain epistle told no more
Than had been hinted at before;
But though I was too bold to fear
That danger of such kind was near,
Yet still the honest counsel brought
My mind to a new range of thought.
"One day as I was riding out, Prowling the country round about, A guide-post stood, in letter'd pride, Close by the dusty high-road side: With many towns for passage fam'd, Oxford upon its points was nam'd, Which instant call'd me to attend To my kind patron Doctor Bend: And then there 'rose within my breast A thought that reason did suggest, And not th' effect of boyish whim, 'Th' Attorney quit and fly to him.'— —Soon after, by a lucky chance, I heard what made my heart to dance, That Cerberus would be from home, At least for sev'ral days to come, Though, when of me he took his leave, He said, 'expect me home at eve, But, as talk may the way beguile,' He added, 'ride with me a mile.' —This was the very thing I wish'd, For now I felt the fox was dish'd. He rode on first and bade me follow, 'Twas then that I began to hollow; I had but one white lie to tell And all things would be going well. I said it was my guardian's whim That I should make the tour with him, And ask'd for a clean shirt or so As I had such a way to go. Thus my great-coat, most closely roll'd, Did all the useful package hold, And to the saddle strongly tied I was completely satisfied, As nought appear'd, thus pack'd together, But a protection from the weather, So that the lawyer's lynx's eye Was clos'd on curiosity: For Madam Gripe-all's ready care Did, to my wish, the whole prepare. Indeed, whatever she might be, Her kindness never fail'd to me. She frequently would call me son, And say she lov'd me as her own; Nay, when the clock struck, she would say, 'Kiss me as often, dear, I pray As that same clock is heard to strike, And oft'ner, dearest, if you like.'
Though such favour ne'er was shown, But when we both were quite alone, And seldom when the clock struck one.
}
Her fondness I could well have stinted, For, to say truth, she smelt and squinted: But I remember'd that she cried, When my poor, little Phillis died.
"I felt my airing rather droll,
Jogging with Gripe-all cheek-by-jowl,
And hearing him, with no great awe,
Expound the secrets of the law.
—When arriv'd at seven miles' end
He smil'd and said, 'Good bye, my friend:
Now homewards you will turn and tell,
That thus far you have left me well.'
I left him with a hope, how vain!
I ne'er might see his face again.
My spur did sprightly poney goad
Till I had got into the road
Which did to Oxford's city lead,
When I restrain'd my foaming steed,
And, calmly pacing on my way,
Ere Great Tom toll'd the following day,
I had embrac'd my rev'rend friend
And kindest patron, Doctor Bend.
at oxford
Drawn by Rowlandson
Quæ Genus at Oxford.
"I told a simple, artless tale, That seem'd completely to prevail, As I beheld his face the while Beam with a kind, approving smile. ''Tis a bold trick,' the Doctor said, 'Which you, my lively spark, have play'd, But since to College you are come, I'll try to make the place your home; Where I should hope you need not fear To be cut short in your career; I think, at least, we may engage To keep you safe till you're of age, When I shall leave you to the struggling With Gripe-all's artifice and juggling: But still the cunning lawyer knows I have good friends 'mong some of those Who lead the bar or have a seat Where the keen eye detects a cheat. He will, I doubt not, swear and curse, Nay, he may say you've stole his horse; But if he meets with no disaster, In two days he shall see his master, And John will have a strict command To give a letter to his hand Which I shall with due caution write Before I seek my bed to-night, And if my mental eye sees clear Will fix my friend Quæ Genus here.' John met the lawyer on the road, Just as he reach'd his own abode, And ere at home he could have heard Of my escape a single word: Told him at once all he could tell, That I at Oxford was, and well, Where as I stay'd, I had of course, With many thanks return'd his horse, John said, he rather look'd confus'd As the epistle he perus'd. —Whether it bore a kind request I should with Alma Mater rest, Or any hint that might apply To the High Court of Chancery:
If soothing it contain'd or threat, I never knew or I forget,— With all submission it was met.
}
To all it ask'd he did agree, And sent his kind regards to me, While he his counsel did commend Not to run off from Doctor Bend, Nor e'er be govern'd by the whim That made me run away from him.
"Thus soon in Scholar's cap and gown, I was seen saunt'ring up and down The High-Street of fair Oxford Town.
}
And though I stood not first in fame, I never bore an idler's name. I was content, nay 'twas my pride The Doctor ne'er was heard to chide, Which, as your Oxford youths can tell, Was getting onward rather well. My friends, the Worthies, near the Lake, Lov'd me for Doctor Syntax' sake, And, free from e'en a speck of care, I pass'd a short-liv'd Summer there. —But time, as it is us'd, roll'd on, And I, at length, was twenty-one.
"I now became a man of cares To bear the weight of my affairs, To know my fortune's full amount, And to arrange a clear account Between the vile, rapacious elf, The Lawyer Gripe-all and myself.
—No sooner to the place I came, Soon as was heard my well-known name, The bells my coming did proclaim,
}
And had I stay'd the following day, I would have made the village gay! Thus Gripe-all was full well prepar'd And put at once upon his guard. I went unwittingly alone To claim my right and ask my own, Though arm'd, to cut the matter short, With an enliv'ning dose of Port, While he was ready to display The spirit of the law's delay. —A step, he said, he could not stir Without Baptismal Register, And many a proof he must receive, Which well he knew I could not give; And till these papers I could shew, He must remain in Statu quo. But still, as a kind, gen'rous friend, And from respect to Doctor Bend, He would, though cash did not abound, Advance me then four hundred pound. I took the notes and thought it best To wait the settling of the rest; But soon I saw, as I'm alive, That I had sign'd receipt for five. My fingers caught the fraudful paper, At which he 'gan to fume and vapour, And let loose language full of ire, Such as 'you bastard, rascal, liar,' On which I caught him by the nose, And gave the wretch some heavy blows, Nay, as the blood ran down his face, I dash'd the ink all in his face, So that his figure might have done E'en for the pit of Acheron. Inky black and bloody red Was o'er his ghastly visage spread, As he lay senseless on the floor, And, as I then thought, breath'd no more. —The office, now a scene of blood, Most haply in the garden stood, So that our scene of sanguine riot Did not disturb domestic quiet: The notes were in my pocket stor'd, And the receipt was in the hoard; But as I now believ'd him dead, I thought of being hang'd—and fled. Nor did I make the whisky wait Which then stood at the garden gate. The driver who there held the reins, Took me through many secret lanes And woodland roads, that might evade Pursuit, if any should be made. He had an humble play-mate been When I was sportive on the green; But now, like me, to manhood grown, Was as a skilful driver known; And would have gone to serve Quæ Genus Though fire and water were between us. I told him all the fears I felt, And how I had with Gripe-all dealt;
Nay, urg'd him, if I were pursued, To cheat the blood-hounds, if he could, All which he mainly swore he would.
}
Nay, hop'd I'd given him such a drubbing, As to send him Beelzebubbing; Though, first or last, he sure would go To his relations down below.
Conflict with Lawyer Gripeall
Drawn by Rowlandson
Conflict between Quæ Genus & Lawyer Gripe-All.
"Thus as we talk'd a mail-coach pass'd,
And as I could not go too fast,
I found, perchance, an empty seat,
And thus I made a quick retreat;
Nay should, in eight and forty hours,
By the wheels' ever-rolling powers,
Have a secure retirement found,
Safe from pursuit, on Scottish ground.
But as Misfortune, it is said,
Calls in associates to her aid,
And, indeed, is seldom known
To pay her visits all alone;
So either from the sultry weather,
Or anxious thoughts, or both together,
I was stopp'd short in my career,
By intermitting fits severe
Of heat and cold: a Galen came,
And Julep was the good man's name,
For truly good he prov'd to me
In skill and in humanity.
''Tis not,' he said, 'disease alone,
Which various symptoms have made known,
But they're encreasing as I find,
By a disturb'd and anxious mind,
And if that cannot be subdued,
Med'cine will do but little good.'
I therefore, my distresses told,
In short, my story did unfold,
While, as I spoke, in his kind eye,
I saw the tear of sympathy,
And did beneath his roof receive
The care that pitying skill could give.
"The fever wag'd a painful strife, A struggling chance 'tween Death and Life, That play'd upon my yielding spine, Which did to outward curve incline: I felt the mark would ne'er forsake Its cruel seat upon my back; I bent beneath the foul disaster That ne'er would yield to any plaister: Nor medicine, nor knife can cure it, And must struggle to endure it. Thus when restor'd to health and vigour, I was become a crook-back'd figure: My former round and healthful face Had lost its plump, its rosy grace, And was reduc'd from this same cause To pale and lean and lantern jaws, That none who once Quæ Genus knew Would recollect him on the view; Nor e'en would recognition wait Though he should pass by Gripe-all's gate.
When in the glass I chanc'd to view, The figure I now scarcely knew, I shudder'd and despis'd it too.
}
—'At length,' said Julep, 'I commend, Ere you depart, a worthy friend, A lawyer too, nay, do not start, Whose well-stor'd head and honest-heart, Throughout his life were ne'er disjoin'd, And in his practice are combin'd The cause of truth and right to aid; Who ne'er has heard the poor upbraid His conscious dealings, while 'tis known, The wealthy do his virtues own. Thus, as your fate has been accurs'd, Of legal dealers, with the worst; You now may, as by all confess'd, Obtain good counsel from the best.
