"I told a simple, artless tale,
That seem'd completely to prevail,
As I beheld his face the while
Beam with a kind, approving smile.
''Tis a bold trick,' the Doctor said,
'Which you, my lively spark, have play'd,
But since to College you are come,
I'll try to make the place your home;
Where I should hope you need not fear
To be cut short in your career;
I think, at least, we may engage
To keep you safe till you're of age,
When I shall leave you to the struggling
With Gripe-all's artifice and juggling:
But still the cunning lawyer knows
I have good friends 'mong some of those
Who lead the bar or have a seat
Where the keen eye detects a cheat.
He will, I doubt not, swear and curse,
Nay, he may say you've stole his horse;
But if he meets with no disaster,
In two days he shall see his master,
And John will have a strict command
To give a letter to his hand
Which I shall with due caution write
Before I seek my bed to-night,
And if my mental eye sees clear
Will fix my friend Quæ Genus here.'
John met the lawyer on the road,
Just as he reach'd his own abode,
And ere at home he could have heard
Of my escape a single word:
Told him at once all he could tell,
That I at Oxford was, and well,
Where as I stay'd, I had of course,
With many thanks return'd his horse,
John said, he rather look'd confus'd
As the epistle he perus'd.
—Whether it bore a kind request
I should with Alma Mater rest,
Or any hint that might apply
To the High Court of Chancery: |
If soothing it contain'd or threat,
I never knew or I forget,—
With all submission it was met. | } |
To all it ask'd he did agree,
And sent his kind regards to me,
While he his counsel did commend
Not to run off from Doctor Bend,
Nor e'er be govern'd by the whim
That made me run away from him. |
| |
"Thus soon in Scholar's cap and gown,
I was seen saunt'ring up and down
The High-Street of fair Oxford Town. | } |
And though I stood not first in fame,
I never bore an idler's name.
I was content, nay 'twas my pride
The Doctor ne'er was heard to chide,
Which, as your Oxford youths can tell,
Was getting onward rather well.
My friends, the Worthies, near the Lake,
Lov'd me for Doctor Syntax' sake,
And, free from e'en a speck of care,
I pass'd a short-liv'd Summer there.
—But time, as it is us'd, roll'd on,
And I, at length, was twenty-one. |
| |
"I now became a man of cares
To bear the weight of my affairs,
To know my fortune's full amount,
And to arrange a clear account
Between the vile, rapacious elf,
The Lawyer Gripe-all and myself. |
—No sooner to the place I came,
Soon as was heard my well-known name,
The bells my coming did proclaim, | } |
And had I stay'd the following day,
I would have made the village gay!
Thus Gripe-all was full well prepar'd
And put at once upon his guard.
I went unwittingly alone
To claim my right and ask my own,
Though arm'd, to cut the matter short,
With an enliv'ning dose of Port,
While he was ready to display
The spirit of the law's delay.
—A step, he said, he could not stir
Without Baptismal Register,
And many a proof he must receive,
Which well he knew I could not give;
And till these papers I could shew,
He must remain in Statu quo.
But still, as a kind, gen'rous friend,
And from respect to Doctor Bend,
He would, though cash did not abound,
Advance me then four hundred pound.
I took the notes and thought it best
To wait the settling of the rest;
But soon I saw, as I'm alive,
That I had sign'd receipt for five.
My fingers caught the fraudful paper,
At which he 'gan to fume and vapour,
And let loose language full of ire,
Such as 'you bastard, rascal, liar,'
On which I caught him by the nose,
And gave the wretch some heavy blows,
Nay, as the blood ran down his face,
I dash'd the ink all in his face,
So that his figure might have done
E'en for the pit of Acheron.
Inky black and bloody red
Was o'er his ghastly visage spread,
As he lay senseless on the floor,
And, as I then thought, breath'd no more.
—The office, now a scene of blood,
Most haply in the garden stood,
So that our scene of sanguine riot
Did not disturb domestic quiet:
The notes were in my pocket stor'd,
And the receipt was in the hoard;
But as I now believ'd him dead,
I thought of being hang'd—and fled.
Nor did I make the whisky wait
Which then stood at the garden gate.
The driver who there held the reins,
Took me through many secret lanes
And woodland roads, that might evade
Pursuit, if any should be made.
He had an humble play-mate been
When I was sportive on the green;
But now, like me, to manhood grown,
Was as a skilful driver known;
And would have gone to serve Quæ Genus
Though fire and water were between us.
I told him all the fears I felt,
And how I had with Gripe-all dealt; |
Nay, urg'd him, if I were pursued,
To cheat the blood-hounds, if he could,
All which he mainly swore he would. | } |
Nay, hop'd I'd given him such a drubbing,
As to send him Beelzebubbing;
Though, first or last, he sure would go
To his relations down below. |
