 | May Fair |  |
Then turning off my cab to B**dl*'s,
I glance upon the high-born noodles,
That, silent as a ring of Quakers,
Melt their right honourable acres;
See the fat Viscount's heavy fist
Sweep thousands at two-handed whist;
While Verjuice, genius of the place,
Hunts, like a hound, his wither'd Grace;
And Owlface, ghost of other years,
Babbles the feats, of long-past peers,
When ancient Queensberry shook the box,
And all men join'd to pigeon Fox.
I glance upon the high-born noodles,
That, silent as a ring of Quakers,
Melt their right honourable acres;
See the fat Viscount's heavy fist
Sweep thousands at two-handed whist;
184
Hunts, like a hound, his wither'd Grace;
And Owlface, ghost of other years,
Babbles the feats, of long-past peers,
When ancient Queensberry shook the box,
And all men join'd to pigeon Fox.
| May Fair | |