Sir Jeffery.
"But one more question I've to ask,
Ere you perform your promis'd task,
And tell me from all shuffling free,
The items of your history,
Up to the moment when you stand
A candidate for my command.
And now Quæ Genus tell the name
Of this same universal dame,
Whom you, poor fellow, have been serving,
And, as you state it, almost starving.
—If in your tale she does agree,
It is a tale of mystery;
Some fairy fable, I suppose,
That paints, in emblems, human woes,
And does in figur'd words, apply
To your peculiar history.
It is not in the usual way
That such as you their state display;
It is not in such borrow'd guise
That they unfold their histories,
With here and there a little bit
Of droll'ry to shew off their wit;
It is not in this form I see
Those who may wear my livery;
But your's I feel a diff'rent case
From those who come to seek a place;
Or when the register may send him,
With, 'Sir, we beg to recommend him.'
I now bethink me of the sage
Who lov'd you in your tender age; |
And when I see you have a claim
To share the page that marks his fame,
Syntax, that highly honour'd name | } |
A passport is, my good Quæ Genus,
To the familiar talk between us.
From that relation which you share,
No longer stand, but take a chair,
And now proceed, without delay,
To close the tale in your own way. |
"And once again, I ask the name
Of this so universal dame;
What is her fortune,—where she lives,
And the strange means by which she thrives?
Where she acquires her wond'rous power,
Which you describe, o'er ev'ry hour?
Where it began, my curious friend;
Then tell me, pray, when it will end."
With due respect, as was requir'd,
He took the chair for he was tir'd,
And calling truth to be his guide,
He thus in solemn tone replied.