"The Volume that now lies before ye,
Tells you thus far, Sir, of my story;
Which would be upon this occasion
A work of supererogation;
Though I shall beg leave to repeat,
I'm not the new-born of the street;
But as it never yet appear'd,
At least, as I have ever heard,
To such unknown, unfather'd heirs,
I am a Foundling of the stairs,
Without a mark upon the dress,
By which there might be form'd a guess,
Whether I should the offspring prove
Of noble or of vulgar love;
Whether thus left in Inn of Court
Where Lawyers live of ev'ry sort;
Love in a deep full-bottom clad,
Gave me a grave black-letter'd dad,
Who, if 'twere so, might not agree
To have a child without a fee;
And, therefore, would not plead my cause,
But left me to the vagrant laws
Of chance, who did not do amiss,
But sued in Formâ Pauperis,
And, in a Court where Mercy reign'd,
The little Foundling's cause was gain'd:
Syntax was judge, and pity's power
Sav'd me in that forsaken hour.
He with that truly Christian spirit,
Which Heaven gave him to inherit,
Fondly embrac'd me as his own;
But ere three transient years were gone,
I lost my friend, but found another,
A father he, and she, a mother;
For such at least they both have prov'd,
And as their child the stranger lov'd.
O, rest her soul!—to her 'tis given
To share his happy lot in Heaven.
I seem'd to be her utmost pride,
And Johnny trotting by her side,
Fill'd with delight her glancing eye
In warm affection's sympathy.
This fond, this kind, this fost'ring friend
Did to my ev'ry want attend;
Her only fault, she rather spoil'd
As he grew up, the darling child;
But though her care was not confin'd
Or to his body, or his mind,
Though, with a fond parental view,
She gave to both th' attention due,
Ne'er would she her displeasure fix
On his most wild, unlucky tricks.
So that at church he held grave airs,
Pronounc'd Amen, and said his pray'rs,
And on a Sunday evening read
A sermon ere they went to bed,
Throughout the week, he was quite free
For mischief with impunity.
—If on the folk I squirted water,
How she would shake her sides with laughter;
If the long-rotten eggs were thrown
At Mary, Sally, or at Joan;
If any stinging stuff was put
Into the hasty trav'ller's boot;
If the sly movement of the heel
Should overturn the spinning-wheel.
—If holly plac'd beside the rose
Should wound the gay sheep-shearer's nose,
Or 'neath the tail a thorn-bush pricking,
Should set Dame Dobbins' mare a kicking,
And overthrow the market load,
While beans and peas o'erspread the road,
If the poor injur'd made complaint
To Madam of her wily saint,
She would reply, 'pray cease your noise,
These are the tricks of clever boys,
It is my pleasant Johnny's fun,
Tell me the damage, and have done.'
—When I became a rosy boy,
My growth encreas'd her growing joy;
But now such gamesome hours were o'er
I play'd my childish tricks no more.
My little heart 'gan to beat high,
And with heroic ardor try
The tempting danger to pursue,
And do what others could not do:
I sought to climb the highest tree,
Where none would dare to follow me,
Or the gay sporting horse to ride,
Which no school-fellow dare bestride.
My feats were sometimes rather scaring,
But the Dame lov'd to see me daring;
As by my running, leaping, walking,
I us'd to set the parish talking,
And, to the good old women's wonder,
I fear'd not lightning nor thunder. |