Within the bound'ries of the will,
Nor left to blundering Codicil,
It may not be amiss to draw
The picture of the Heir at Law.
When on the 'Change he took his rounds, He walk'd an hundred thousand pounds: Not less was his acknowledg'd worth When ev'ry morn he sallied forth, With expectation grave, to meet
Fortune's fresh smiles in Lombard-Street.
Upright in all his worldly dealing :
But that high sense of noble feeling,
The humane impulse to relieve,
To wipe the eye of those who grieve,
The wish of goodness to impart
The bounties of a gen'rous heart,
These were not his; and though the scroll
That may the charities enroll
Of gilded pride, upon the wall
In some conspicuous hospital,
Might his known name and title bear,
'Twas vanity that plac'd it there.
But though, perhaps, a plum or more
Was added to his former store,
If, by sad chance, with haggard mien,
An humble suppliant should be seen,
A mother sick, a father dead,
And children, left forlorn, unfed,
His hand ne'er ventur'd on his purse
To give relief, and, what was worse,
He would alarm the wretches' fears
With beadles fierce and overseers,
Or talk of laws for vagrants made,
Which call the scourge-man to their aid.
Thus nought was look'd for at his hands,
But justice strict to just demands:
No smiling, generous overflow
Of fair reward would he bestow;
No bounty did his thoughts prepare
For duty's overweening care;
While service, by affection wrought,
Was, in his reck'ning, set at nought.
gave in his account; Its justness own'd, the full amount Was duly paid, but I'll forgive
The mind refusing to believe,
That, when the rich man should discover
That he had paid some nine-pence over,
He did, without a look of shame,
That pittance as a balance claim :
It may appear full passing strange,
But 'tis a fact, he took the change,
And did the jingling half-pence greet,
Like fish-women in open street.
E'en the worn wardrobe of the Knight,
Which is esteem'd the valet's right,
ʼral heir-loom of his place,
Was seiz'd by the curmudgeon base,
And borne away, a paltry gain,
To his own Store in Mincing-Lane:
But when, among the other dues,
Were order'd off the Gouty Shoes,
QUE GENUS, with contempt inflam'd,
Thus, in a hearty tone, exclaim'd,
"Away, to the mean merchant bear 'em!
Heaven grant he may be forc'd to wear 'em!"
-Thus things went on ;-then came the time,
(The truth e'en shames my humble rhyme)
When the Executor and Heir,
For one did both the titles share,
Appear'd to pay, in legal guise,
The wages and the legacies.
QUE GENUS, who had lately been
A favour'd actor in the scene,
Could not have guess'd at such disaster
From such a friend and such a master:
And though he strove, he scarce could hide
The feelings of an honest pride,
When, from Sir Jeffery's error, he
And those who wore a livery,
Nay even house and kitchen-maid
Were in the same proportions paid,-
When his allotted mourning bore
The same coarse stuff the coachman wore.
But how his heart began to beat
When he was charg'd for the receipt!
All his distinction now was lost,
And he who long had rul'd the roast,
Had, since Sir Jeffery went to rest,
Been of his station dispossest;
Nay, not a common smile remain'd
Of all the favour he had gain'd,
While beggarly mistrust took place,
Which he must feel as foul disgrace:
For ev'ry key had been demanded;
One instant made him empty-handed
Dismiss'd from his late envied station
Without a nod of approbation,
He was preparing to depart
With downcast look and heavy heart;
Nor could e'en Molly's tender smile
Of one sad thought that heart beguile.
HIS FAREWELL Speech.
"And now, I say, adieu, my friends,
For here our fellow-service ends.
You need not put on sorrowing faces;
You will soon meet with ready places;
"Tis me whose disappointing care,
Of cheering prospects, bids despair.
-You all, I'm sure can well believe,
I have most ample cause to grieve
That cruel Fortune thus should frown,
When I thought her fond smiles my own.
-Sir Jeffery now is laid in dust,
But when alive, how good, how just!
And all who knew him well must know
He never wish'd to use me so.
Had he believ'd his end so nigh,
I should have had the legacy,
Which would have made me full amends
For loss of fortune, loss of friends.
Another day had he surviv'd,
To the next morning had he liv'd,
It might, perhaps, have been my fate
To know an independent state,
As he had told me, o'er and o'er,
I ne'er should go to service more.
When I did on his wants attend
He spoke as a familiar friend :
How often too we might be seen
Chatting within the Indian screen!
Whenever we were left alone,
We seem'd not two, but were as one.
I knew each tit-bit that he lov'd;
He always what I gave approv'd;
And as I stood beside his chair,
Attending with respectful air,
He oft would bid me sit and dine,
Fill up his glass and pour out mine.
-When thumb and finger he applied
To the gold snuff box by his side,
I shar'd the pinch, and he ne'er ceas'd
To say, 'God bless you,' when I sneez'd;
Nay, when my snortings I repeated,
He thus my awkward flurry greeted,
'My friend, familiarize your nose
To this exhilarating dose,
For sure as we together dine
This box, QUE GENUS, shall be thine!'
But that kind friend, alas! is dead,
And box and snuff and all are fled.
Nay, had I now a hope on earth,
And could engage in trifling mirth,
I here might my complainings close
With disappointments of my nose.
-His common purse I could command,
'Twas daily open to my
hand;
You all well know I paid his bills,
And when, to ease his various ills,
Sir Midriff came, I us'd to squeeze
Into his palm the welcome fees.
Whene'er I showed my weekly book,
He never gave the page a look ;
And when I urg'd it the good Knight
Would smile and say, 'I'm sure 'tis right.'
Nay, I can say, in ev'ry sense,
I ne'er abus'd his confidence:
No, no, I never did purloin
An atom of the lowest coin,
And what I have to Heaven is known,
In honest truth, to be my own,
Then wonder not, I feel it hard,
To be depriv'd of my reward,
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