The stroke was struck, no human art
Could now withdraw the fatal dart.
Mutes marching on, in solemn pace, With gladden'd heart and sorrowing face, Who, clad in black attire, for pay Let out their sorrows by the day : The nodding plumes and 'scutcheon'd hearse Would make a pretty show in verse; But 'tis enough, Sir Jeffery dead, That his remains, enshrin'd in lead, And, cloth'd in all their sad array, To mingle with their native clay, Were safe convey'd to that same bourne From whence no travellers return. We must another track pursue, Life's varying path we have in view,Our way QUE GENUS is with you!
As our enlighten'd reason ranges
O'er man and all his various changes,
What sober thoughts the scenes supply,
To hamper our philosophy;
To make the expanding bosom swell
With the fine things the tongue can tell!
And it were well, that while we preach,
We practice, what we're fain to teach.
O, here might many a line be lent,
To teach the mind to learn content,
And with a manly spirit bear
The stroke of disappointing care;
Awake a just disdain to smile
On muckworm fortune base and vile,
Look on its threatnings to betray,
As darksome clouds that pass away,
And call on cheering hope to see
Some future, kind reality.
-All who Sir Jeffery knew could tell
Our Hero serv'd him passing well;
Nay to the care which he bestow'd
The Knight a lengthen'd period ow'd,
And such the thanks he oft avow'd.
QUE GENUS never lost his views
Of duty and its faithful dues;
His honour no one could suspect,
Nor did he mark with cold neglect
Those services which intervene
In a sick chamber's sickly scene:
His duty thought no office mean,
And to Sir Jeffery's closing sigh
All, all was warm fidelity.
Nay, thus the Knight would frequent own
A grateful sense of service done;
And oft, in words like these, he said,
That duty shall be well repaid.
"QUÆ GENUS, know me for your friend,
I to your welfare shall attend;
Your friend while I retain my breath,
And when that's gone, your friend in death."
That death he felt as a disaster,
For, to speak truth, he lov'd his master,
Nor did he doubt that a reward
Would prove that master's firm regard.
'Tis nature, in life's worst vexation,
To look at least for consolation;
And he, 'tis true, had turn'd his eye
To a consoling legacy,
That might, at least, make some amends,
For losing this his best of friends;
But his ill luck we must not smother;
He lost the one, nor found the other,
The will was full of good intent,
And a warm legacy was meant
To poor QUE GENUS, there's no doubt,
But shuffling Fortune left it out;
'Twas she cut short the kind bequest,
Which was thus fatally express'd.
"To this my last and solemn Will I add by way of Codicil,
My true and faithful servant's name,
Who to my care has every claim:
-To JOHN QUE GENUS I bequeath
One month posterior to my death,
The sum of
Here a blank ensued
Which has not yet been understood,
Or why the figures were delay'd
That would a sterling gift have made.
Whether a sudden twitch of gout
Caus'd him to leave the figures out;
Or visit of a chatt'ring friend
That did th' important words suspend,
And thus retard the kind design,
Until the 'morrow's sun should shine,
That 'morrow with its ha's and hums,
Which, often promis'd, never comes :
Howe'er the enquiring mind may guess
It cannot find the wish'd success:
In short, whatever cause prevail'd,
Too true, the gen❜rous purpose fail'd.
In the Knight's mind the boon was will'd,
But still the blank was never fill'd,
And no more the said will engages
Than mourning suit and one year's wages,
Which all his household should inherit
Whate'er their station or their merit :
Here no distinction was display'd
'Tween high and low, 'tween man and maid,
And though QUE GENUS was the first,
He had his portion with the worst.
Our Hero thought it wond'rous hard
Thus to be foil'd of his reward,
That which, in ev'ry point of view,
He felt to be his honest due;
And both his master and his friend
Did to his services intend;
Which, as the sun at noontide clear,
Does by the codicil appear:
But when he ask'd Sir Jeffery's heir
(Who did so large a fortune share)
The blank hiatus to repair,
Which he with truth could represent
As an untoward accident,
The wealthy merchant shook his head
And bade him go and ask the dead.
QUÆ GENUS ventur❜d to reply
While his breast heav'd a painful sigh,
"The dead, you know, Sir, cannot speak,
But could the grave its silence break,
I humbly ask your gen'rous heart,
Would not its language take my part,
Would it not utter, O fulfil
The purpose of the codicil?'
Would it not tell you to supply
The blank with a due legacy?"
The rich man, turning on his heel,
Did not the rising taunt conceal.
"All that the grave may please to say,
I promise, friend, I will obey."
What could be done with this high Cit,
But to look sad and to submit ;
For it could answer no good end
Though indispos'd to be a friend,
That kind of discontent to show
Which might convert him to a foe.
But ere we altogether leave
Sir Jeffery's grateful friends to grieve,
We mean all those which to the sight
Were clearly writ, in black and white,
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