Drawn by Rowlandson
Quæ Genus, in the service of Sir. Jeffery Gourmand.
In this wide world, how oft is seen
A phantom with alluring mien,
Y'clep'd Temptation, whose sweet smiles
Too oft the stoutest heart beguiles.
Whate'er its forms, they seldom fail
Sooner or later to prevail.
If it assumes a golden shower,
Or sits in any seat of power,
How numerous the slavish band
Who offer to obey command:
Still, some examples may be shown
Of those whose virtues would disown
Its influence, and refuse to fly,
Or yield the palm of victory.
But where's the heart that e'er disdains
The pow'r that dwells where beauty reigns?
If such a question we propose,
Ezekiel was not one of those;
And thus below-stairs he began
To break upon his up-stairs plan: |
Nay, this same rigid rule of right,
In his close duties to the Knight,
He now thought might be drawn too tight; | } |
And that, in trifles, to his feeling,
He might be safe in double dealing,
And in the drawing-room apply
The aid of kitchen policy:
But he as soon would think of murther
As to proceed an atom further.
How he thus happen'd to decline
From his strict, philosophic line;
Why he relax'd from law severe
In the Knight's upper atmosphere,
Will not surprise one human creature
Who the world knows, or human nature,
Or recollects the joy or smart
When passion first invades the heart. |
| |
There were two objects most bewitching,
That sparkled all around the kitchen;
Though so bright was every kettle,
Or plate or pan of various metal,
That each might gaze upon a face
As if they peep'd into a glass:
Though fire-irons did reveal
The shining of the polish'd steel,—
Yet these superior pow'rs display'd,
Than aught by human artist made:
In short, to state what they could be,
And silence curiosity,
They were two eyes which lustre shed
Where'er the owner turn'd her head;
Though they gave not the only grace
That play'd on Molly's charming face.
But whether 'twas her lips or nose,
Or the fine curve of auburn brows,
That aided the commanding eye
In its well-play'd artillery,
Howe'er that be—in his warm heart
Ezekiel had receiv'd the dart,
And as its ruling power he felt,
Each steady purpose 'gan to melt:— |
For her he might his virtue stake
And let his yielding conscience quake,
Nay, cheat Sir Jeff'ry for her sake. | } |
'Tis not the office of the Muse,
On slight suspicions, to accuse;
Nor does she now present to view
More than 'tis probable she knew:
But one day, and it may be more,
His constant meal of dainties o'er,
Dull nature did the Knight incline