Quæ Genus.
"If, Sir, it were not thought too free,
If I might take the liberty,
I would not wish you here to wait
While I my strange condition state,
As it would take an hour or more,
My various story to explore;
Tho' 'tis not such, that I should fear
The tale to tell or you to hear:
You, who will kind allowance make
For wants that press, and hearts that ache,
And passions that restraint disdain
When justice sues, and sues in vain;
And 'tis to that tale I refer
For name, for age and character,
Whom I have serv'd, and what the scene
Where my frail manhood's years have been:
And if you will but condescend
To my young hist'ry to attend,
And will not the fond hope deny me,
That you, good Sir, will take and try me,
And let my rude, misgotten shape
From your observance to escape,
You will command,—I will obey;
When you may see from day to day,
How far, Sir, I may make pretence
To your good grace and confidence."
"Then be it so," the Knight replied,
"I trust I may be satisfied.
I'm told there's something droll about you,
But droll'ry will not make me scout you;
Nor do I mind, my friend, the pack,
Which you now wear upon your back:
We're rather equal on that score—
Your's is behind, and mine's before;
Nay, when of both I take a view,
Mine is the larger of the two."
Quæ Genus, with a ready grace,
Lifted his hat to hide his face;
But still he so arrang'd the screen
That his gay visage might be seen;
Which seem'd to burst as from the hit
Of the fat Knight's spontaneous wit,
Who chuckled first, and then made known
His further will to laughing John.