"My dearest friend, you are so clever, That I could hear you talk for ever. Let not Quæ Genus be afraid, He ne'er shall want my ready aid;
For surely to his heart 'tis known, His ev'ry interest is my own, At least I feel that we are one.
}
O yes, I comprehend him well!" But now she heard her Lady's bell, A summons that must be attended,— So here the conversation ended.
Thus Valcour and his brilliant dame Attain'd their folly's highest aim, To scale the ladder of the Ton As many wealthy fools have done, And laugh, if they should hear the call, "Your foot may slip and you may fall." They did in every thing agree, With the same eye each object see. "Whate'er you fancy must appear So very right my dearest dear!— And whatsoe'er you do approve, Cannot be wrong, my sweetest love!" —Such was their billing and their cooing, As they were hast'ning on to ruin; Nor did they see that Fashion laugh'd, While she their costly nectar quaff'd; Or 'mid the crowds that might attend Their banquets, they had not a friend. But such too often is the case Where Folly takes the highest place; And upstart fortune fain would be The ape of rank and family. There vulgar wealth pays dear for places With Lordships, Ladyships and Graces,
Who at its table may appear Or once or twice or thrice a year, When luxury does the feast prepare;
}
And yet their host but coldly greet, If they should meet him in the street. —But true or not, howe'er that be, In this career of vanity, Winter's fine pleasures pass'd away And Summer made the country gay, While fashion now set out to grace The Country seat and Wat'ring place, Valcour and Madame now were seen Parading on the Brighton Stein, But where, though envied and admir'd, With the same scenes they soon were tir'd: Besides 'twas decent to retreat And give life to their ancient seat. Thus while th' astonish'd Natives stare Woodlands receiv'd the tonish pair;
While they the rural 'Squires surprise With splendid hospitalities; And even here the money flies.
}
The Knight when sporting in the East, Was wont to hunt the brindled beast, Or the long, pointed jav'lin plant From castled back of elephant, In the fierce tiger's spotted side, And gloried when the savage died: He therefore would not deign to share The conquest o'er a tim'rous hare; Nor push on in a break-neck pace Through all his wiles the fox to chace. But when the sportsmen left their game, And weary to his mansion came, Which they were always glad to do, Whene'er that mansion was in view, Quæ Genus heard the orders gay To be fulfill'd without delay, As the loud and welcome brawl Re-echoed through the lofty hall,— "Prepare, that my good friends may dine, The turkey and the smoking chine, The pasty and whate'er is best To furnish out an instant feast!
Be sure 'tis your attentive task, To give them all that they may ask, The bowl, the tankard and the flask;"
}
But then the Knight in whispers hinted, "When you perceive my time is stinted, And both my deafen'd ears no more Can bear the Bacchanalian roar; When it appears the stupid asses Scarce know the bottles from the glasses, Nor can perceive, 'mid boosing laughter, That I am only sipping water;
When I shall unperceiv'd retire, Remember it is my desire, They do not set the house on fire."
}
—Thus, when o'erwhelm'd with sporting guest, Sir Charles his constant wish express'd, And, after many a vain essay, Contriv'd at last to steal away, With something like an aching head, To seek the refuge of his bed.
attending on a sporting finale
Drawn by Rowlandson
Quæ Genus attends a sporting Finale.
In drunken freaks Quæ Genus knew
Sense was oft gone and feeling too;
That legs might tables overturn,
And fallen lights would flare and burn;
Nay, flaming mischief might attend
On lighted snuff and candle's end.
Thus to be safe, without delay
The threat'ning lights he bore away,
And, to avoid a falling spark,
Left parties snoring in the dark.
Thus stretching as their limbs were able,
On chair, on floor or on table,
Quæ Genus did not own a fear
That there was any danger near,
So left them till the day should break
And fev'rish nature bid them wake;
When, yawning round the sporting closet,
Some groom brought in their morning posset;
And, hobbling off as they were able
To mount their horses at the stable,
They left the Knight their humble thanks,
Hop'd Madam would excuse their pranks,
And sought their homes, perhaps, to hear
A wife talk loud in either ear.
Such were the jovial sportsmen's meetings
And these their hospitable greetings;
But rural dames who were received
With kindness while old Woodlands liv'd,
As they found such an alter'd state
Ne'er enter'd twice the mansion gate:
The 'Squires' wives would ne'er resort
To one so chang'd to pay their court;
And, though she was with title crown'd,
The proud acquaintance they disown'd.
Brimful of town conceits and folly, My Lady now grew melancholy; And when the sporting season came Her daily looks were not the same: That time of noisy, jovial joy, Did ev'ry lively sense annoy, Nor would she any reas'ning hear.— "To Town we'll haste away, My Dear! Let us be gone without delay: To London let us haste away! These rooms where staring figures sprawl In ancient hangings on the wall, Nay, where at noon, the shaded light Gives dimness of approaching night, Which nought can chearful make and gay, Or give the semblance bright of day, But that well-dress'd, high-minded glee That here, alas, we never see, Which could alone from this dull room, Snatch the grim likeness of a tomb! Let us be gone without delay, To London let us haste away!" —She gave a piteous look and sigh'd, When, with soft grace, Sir Charles replied. "As such is your desire, My Love, To Town we quickly will remove; If it will soothe my charmer's sorrow, We will set out for Town to-morrow. But have you thought, my dearest Dear, That not a creature will be there? Will you not find we shall be hurl'd Into a lifeless, empty world; Where, till the winter near approaches You will see nought but Hackney coaches? I'm sure you'll think yourself quite undone, If you're a month alone in London. To your gay spirit Oh how dull On a soft window-seat to loll, And count with your half-sleeping eye How many Nobodies go by! While mothers with their babies tell, What sick'ning stuff they have to sell, When from their ceaseless screaming noises, You ask for what Heaven gave them voices: Till like the fiddler in a rage, Which you have seen in Hogarth's page, You stop your ears, with anger burn, And cry 'to Woodlands, let's return.' I'd rather sit and yawn, I own, Here in the country than in town,
Where to dull club-rooms I must go, E'en in the streets no creature know, And ride alone in Rotten-Row.
}
But be it as you wish."—"Then I," The Dame delay'd not to reply, "Desire such orders you will give That we, with prompt dispatch, may leave This stupid spot and hurry strait With post horse gallop through the gate, And when we've got a dozen mile, I then will thank you, Love, and smile.
Yes, I will bid adieu to care, Though not a soul in Portman-Square, When once I see that I am there.
}
Believe me I would rather hear As sounds more pleasing to my ear, Fishwomen's cries along the street, Than noisy sportsmen when they meet, Whose noisy, vulgar, drunken brawl So often echoed in our Hall. The Town, perhaps, is not so full, But London never can be dull: Thin as it may be, or e'en thinner, We shall find folk to eat our dinner, And though no crowd will throng at present, Our little parties will be pleasant. The Drama too presents its play To make the evening pass away; Blue hills delight and lawns so green When they are painted on the scene; O how I like the woods and rocks When I can view them from a box!— I'm charm'd with such a rural sight When it is seen by candle-light. We shall to pass our time contrive, And keep our pretty selves alive, Till the world rolls to Town amain:— Then we shall be ourselves again." —They were themselves, and suffer'd pride Still to remain their fatal guide, And to bring on that period near, When Folly claim'd its full arrear.
It is not needful for our rhyme
To tell how long or short the time
Which the vain Spendthrift Genius thought
Was fit to bring their schemes to nought.
All we shall say is, with the song,
"The days of pleasure ne'er are long."
And, if to proverbs we resort,
"The days of sorrow ne'er are short."
And here it is but truth to tell, That our Quæ Genus acted well. For never, as his duty call'd, When home affairs were so enthrall'd, That ere the Winter months would end There would be no more coin to spend, Nor credit found to give the swing To gay manœuvres through the Spring, He did not from his master's ears Conceal the state of his affairs; And though, too oft receiv'd with scorn, Gave hints, but still they fail'd to warn. —At length, howe'er, the period came From fashion's list to blot their name; When it was vain for pride to look In the card-rack or porter's book, While the old guard might sit and snore, But rarely summon'd to the door; That door, of late, so seldom quiet From lounging call or pleasure's riot, Unless it, with less noisy stir, Announc'd some threat'ning visiter. —Encreasing wants began to press, And all things threaten'd that distress
Which vanity knows not to bear, That pride contemplates with despair, Yet spurns regenerating care;
}
And a pale demon seems to see In form of sage œconomy.
The scene thus drawing to a close, Friends, aye, and faithful ones arose, With their best aid to interpose,
}
And Valcour found, when least expected, That falling he was not neglected. For he was lov'd by all who knew The virtues whence his follies grew; And some of these so active were As to preserve him from the snare Of Us'rer's gripe and Lawyer's strife, That seem'd to threat his future life. They did with counsel sage persuade And brought the ready, golden aid, Which check'd the powers that did enslave him, Before it was too late to save him.
