"Things at the worst, 'tis said, must mend, And I will prove your real friend, If you, hereafter, have the sense To merit my full confidence: And now, I think, you may prepare To take my household to your care. Your pride must not offended be At putting on a livery, As that will be the best disguise To hide you from all prying eyes; Quæ Genus, too, you now must yield, That learned name should be conceal'd; Ezekiel will suspicion smother, As well, I think, as any other, Till I have due enquiry made If Gripe-all be alive or dead, And how far I may recommend The runaway to Doctor Bend. Do what is right—and laugh at fear; The mark you carry in your rear Will never intercept the view Fortune may have in store for you. No more let vanity resent The stroke by which your form is bent! How many in the world's wide range Would willingly their figures change For such as yours, and give their wealth To get your hump and all its health. Look at my legs—my stomach see, And tell me, would you change with me?
Nay, when your healthy form I view, Though all be-hump'd, I'd change with you, And give you half my fortune too.
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Lament no more your loss of beauty, But give your thoughts to do that duty Which my peculiar wants require, And more you need not to desire. I feel I cannot pay too high For care and for fidelity: Let me see that—my heart engages To give you something more than wages —Your duties will be found to vary, As Steward, Nurse, and Secretary: Thus you will soon my wants attend Less as a servant than a friend. You may suppose I little know Of what is going on below; My leading wishes are, to prove That I am duly serv'd above, And you, as may be daily seen, Must play the active game between."
