. . .> IT may seem queer when 'tis the will Of Fate, its wishes to fulfil, To call the culprit to the bar, One born beneath a luckless star, And from his urging conscience tell The truths that on his mem'ry dwell, When, like a checquer they display The black and white to open day. Thus, as the truth he's bound to state, The former may preponderate; While, in a happy moment bold, He may some conscious good unfold, Nor can the awkward task refuse Both to applaud and to accuse. —Such thoughts as these might be the cause, Why poor Quæ Genus made a pause. "Well," said Sir Jeff'ry, "pray go on, Or never will your tale have done: I've told you, and you must attend; You tell your story to a friend, Who will, whatever may appear, With kindness and compassion hear." Quæ Genus. "Your pardon, Sir, I will proceed, Nor stop till I've perform'd the deed. 34 —Thus, so far Fortune deck'd with smiles The season which our youth beguiles, And . . . Read More