 | Crockford-House, A Rhapsody |  |
1
CANTO I.
Oft as up St. James's hill I
Push along for Piccadilly,
There what Cockney-crowds I meet,
Gazing, wondering in the street
At the chasm in front of White's,
Strangest, fearfullest of sights!
Late at night, at early dawning,
Still “at alteration yawning,”
Like a mouth in boxing bout,
Half its teeth in front knocked out;
Like a breach by miners able
Just reported practicable.
Push along for Piccadilly,
There what Cockney-crowds I meet,
Gazing, wondering in the street
At the chasm in front of White's,
The Chasm is here described as it appeared in the beginning of last November, just before the fall of the Guards' Clum-House. The progress since made in filling it up with a splendid building has been so rapid as to excuse, if it does not justify, the popular suspicion recorded in the Second Canto, p. 67, lines 7, 8.
Strangest, fearfullest of sights!
Late at night, at early dawning,
Still “at alteration yawning,”
2
Half its teeth in front knocked out;
Like a breach by miners able
Just reported practicable.
Where is now the brick and wood
Which so lately in it stood?
Was it by an earthquake shaken,
Or by sudden flames o'ertaken?
Has the word been given for storming,
Is that warlike feat performing?
Have the Radicals attacked it,
Or the Vice-Suppressors sacked it?
Has it yielded to a blow,
Dealt from Ragget's rival bow?
Has our Lord the King's Attorney
'Gainst it armed Sir Richard Birnie,
Him who with his stout police
Levies war, to keep the peace?
Which so lately in it stood?
Was it by an earthquake shaken,
Or by sudden flames o'ertaken?
Has the word been given for storming,
Is that warlike feat performing?
Have the Radicals attacked it,
Or the Vice-Suppressors sacked it?
Has it yielded to a blow,
Dealt from Ragget's rival bow?
3
'Gainst it armed Sir Richard Birnie,
Him who with his stout police
Levies war, to keep the peace?
Have the Saints dislodged the sinners
From their den of dice and dinners?
Have they, in their burning zeal,
Striven to set Destruction's seal
On the spot where, night and day,
Smoked the altars raised to Play,
Braving in their onset bold
Satan in his strongest hold,
Where their fevered fancy draws
Imps with pitchforks, horns, and claws,
Up to earth, in countless legions,
Swarming from the lower regions?
From their den of dice and dinners?
Have they, in their burning zeal,
Striven to set Destruction's seal
On the spot where, night and day,
Smoked the altars raised to Play,
Braving in their onset bold
Satan in his strongest hold,
Where their fevered fancy draws
Imps with pitchforks, horns, and claws,
4
Swarming from the lower regions?
Tell me, any Muse who deigns,
Since yon darksome gulf contains
Nought but rubbish,—jutting boards,
Mortar, brick-bats, hods, and hordes,
By alternate rain and gust
Drenched with mud, or choked with dust,
Say what buildings, bad or good,
Once within its confines stood?
Since yon darksome gulf contains
Nought but rubbish,—jutting boards,
Mortar, brick-bats, hods, and hordes,
By alternate rain and gust
Drenched with mud, or choked with dust,
Say what buildings, bad or good,
Once within its confines stood?
Here were raised, 'tis years ago,
More for use, I ween, than shew,
Kindred houses, five or so;
Such as, in those tasteless days,
London-builders loved to raise;
Men whose barren fancy ran
Always on the self-same plan;
From whose ceilings, windows, doors,
Chimneys, passages, and floors,
Pride of many a smart abode
North and south of Oxford-Road,
You might instance in a lecture
Every fault of architecture.
Ten their rooms, their windows three.
All were fashion'd to agree
Like the seven Miss Flamboroughs,
Who, as Wakefield's Vicar shews,
Clothed alike, on canvas stand,
Each an orange in her hand.
More for use, I ween, than shew,
Kindred houses, five or so;
5
London-builders loved to raise;
Men whose barren fancy ran
Always on the self-same plan;
From whose ceilings, windows, doors,
Chimneys, passages, and floors,
Pride of many a smart abode
North and south of Oxford-Road,
You might instance in a lecture
Every fault of architecture.
Ten their rooms, their windows three.
All were fashion'd to agree
Like the seven Miss Flamboroughs,
Who, as Wakefield's Vicar shews,
6
Each an orange in her hand.
Crockford—but some gawk or quiz
Here may ask who Crockford is?
Who, forsooth! The trump of Fame
Seldom celebrates a name
Through the Country, or in Town,
Of more exquisite renown.
All his coaxing manners praise,
All confess his winning ways.
Though 'tis plainly seen with one eye
He's a dab at making money,
Still his taste (one must commend it),
Next to getting, is to spend it.
Let them hoard their coin who love it,
Crockford has a soul above it.
Reckless he of cons and pros,
Lightly as it comes, it goes,
Still ungrudged and unrepented,
So his members are contented.
Here may ask who Crockford is?
Who, forsooth! The trump of Fame
Seldom celebrates a name
Through the Country, or in Town,
Of more exquisite renown.
All his coaxing manners praise,
All confess his winning ways.
Though 'tis plainly seen with one eye
He's a dab at making money,
Still his taste (one must commend it),
Next to getting, is to spend it.
7
Crockford has a soul above it.
Reckless he of cons and pros,
Lightly as it comes, it goes,
Still ungrudged and unrepented,
So his members are contented.
He can boast of many debtors,
Every one among his betters.
Never of a score afraid,
Always “blushing to be paid,”
'Tis a luxury to owe him.—
None, if happening not to know him;
None their ignorance should own,
Arguing themselves unknown.
Every one among his betters.
Never of a score afraid,
Always “blushing to be paid,”
'Tis a luxury to owe him.—
None, if happening not to know him;
None their ignorance should own,
Arguing themselves unknown.
8
They, perhaps, who love him, wish
He had never dealt in fish;
But, excepting when he nabs
Higher prey by means of crabs,
Ne'er he'll deal in it again,
Fisher now become of men;
One who still, I own it freely,
Hooks and nets them so genteelly,
That they feel it, as they ought,
Quite a pleasure to be caught.
There. You have your answer, quiz:
Now, you know who Crockford is.
He had never dealt in fish;
But, excepting when he nabs
Higher prey by means of crabs,
Ne'er he'll deal in it again,
Fisher now become of men;
One who still, I own it freely,
Hooks and nets them so genteelly,
That they feel it, as they ought,
Quite a pleasure to be caught.
There. You have your answer, quiz:
Now, you know who Crockford is.
Muse, a couplet more or less
Matters not, but don't digress.
You've the story to relate
Of these houses and their fate;
You, if any one, can tell
Wherefore, and by whom they fell.
Matters not, but don't digress.
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Of these houses and their fate;
You, if any one, can tell
Wherefore, and by whom they fell.
Crockford, voting Bolton-Row
On a sudden, vastly low,
And that gentlemen should meet
Only in St. James's Street,
Broke his quarters up, and here
Entered on a fresh career.
Promising the scene, and new.—
First he purchased houses two;
Then, no sooner said than done,
Two were blended into one.
Next, in these were heaped together
Glass and gilding, silk and leather,
All displayed, as Fame avouches,
In such mirrors, chairs, and couches,
That Morell alone or Tatham
Worthy were to celebrate 'em.
On a sudden, vastly low,
And that gentlemen should meet
Only in St. James's Street,
Broke his quarters up, and here
Entered on a fresh career.
Promising the scene, and new.—
First he purchased houses two;
Then, no sooner said than done,
Two were blended into one.
10
Glass and gilding, silk and leather,
All displayed, as Fame avouches,
In such mirrors, chairs, and couches,
That Morell alone or Tatham
Worthy were to celebrate 'em.
There, while softly perfumed vapours
Hovered round the lamps and tapers,
In whose beams the Muse might slumber,
Ere she reckoned up their number,
All was splendid, all was bright,
Basking in a blaze of light
Such as emulates the Sun—
Still but half his work was done.
Eyes were pleased, but Crockford knew
Stomachs claim their pleasures too;
And that nine, at least, in ten,
Duly polled, of mortal men
Think, no matter what the treat,
'Tis but fudge—unless they eat.
Hovered round the lamps and tapers,
In whose beams the Muse might slumber,
Ere she reckoned up their number,
All was splendid, all was bright,
Basking in a blaze of light
Such as emulates the Sun—
Still but half his work was done.
11
Stomachs claim their pleasures too;
And that nine, at least, in ten,
Duly polled, of mortal men
Think, no matter what the treat,
'Tis but fudge—unless they eat.
Hastening, having bribed the sight,
To engage the appetite,
First, he turned his conjuring book
For a spell to raise a cook.
Thrice invoked, an artist came
Not unworthy of the name;
One who with a hand of fire
Struck the culinary lyre,
And through all its compass ran:
Taste and judgment marked the man:
Ever various, ever new,
Was this heav'n-born Cordon bleu.
To engage the appetite,
First, he turned his conjuring book
For a spell to raise a cook.
Thrice invoked, an artist came
Not unworthy of the name;
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Struck the culinary lyre,
And through all its compass ran:
Taste and judgment marked the man:
Ever various, ever new,
Was this heav'n-born Cordon bleu.
Next, he waved his golden wand.
Earth and sea, at his command,
Gave their choicest treasures up,
That his customers might sup.
And his judgment was, in this,
Clearly not so much amiss;
Thirst and hunger, as they say,
Being mortal foes of Play.
But as high celestial blood
Reckons on ambrosial food,
Every luxury was there
Deemed (to borrow from Voltaire)
Superflu si necessaire.
Cease, ye pedants, cease to gull us
With the suppers of Lucullus,
In his favorite room, the' Apollo;—
Here Crockfordus beat him hollow!
Earth and sea, at his command,
Gave their choicest treasures up,
That his customers might sup.
And his judgment was, in this,
Clearly not so much amiss;
13
Being mortal foes of Play.
But as high celestial blood
Reckons on ambrosial food,
Every luxury was there
Deemed (to borrow from Voltaire)
Superflu si necessaire.
Cease, ye pedants, cease to gull us
With the suppers of Lucullus,
In his favorite room, the' Apollo;—
Here Crockfordus beat him hollow!
Art revived, when nearly lost,
By his nightly pains and cost;
Art which prized so much of late is,
Precious art of supping gratis,
Refuge of the' undinner'd, hail!
May'st thou never, never fail!
Found by thee in food and wine,
Marvel not if some decline
Or, perchance, forget to dine.
Dinners but inflame the' amount
Of a yearly club-account.
Here, whoever sups may crow:
Here, we neither pay nor owe.
By his nightly pains and cost;
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Precious art of supping gratis,
Refuge of the' undinner'd, hail!
May'st thou never, never fail!
Found by thee in food and wine,
Marvel not if some decline
Or, perchance, forget to dine.
Dinners but inflame the' amount
Of a yearly club-account.
Here, whoever sups may crow:
Here, we neither pay nor owe.
Midnight sounds!—'Tis twelve o'clock!
See, like pigeons, how they flock
From the opera, or the play,
Or from t' other side the way.
Some, when gossip scarce requites
Those who linger there, from White's;
Others, little to the cook's ease,
From The Travellers' or Brooks's.
Pleased they ply the four-pronged fork,
Pleased they free the fettered cork,
Where, in rich abundance stored,
Every dainty crowns the board,
Heaped together, to entice
Squeamish tastes, at any price.
See, like pigeons, how they flock
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Or from t' other side the way.
Some, when gossip scarce requites
Those who linger there, from White's;
Others, little to the cook's ease,
From The Travellers' or Brooks's.
Pleased they ply the four-pronged fork,
Pleased they free the fettered cork,
Where, in rich abundance stored,
Every dainty crowns the board,
Heaped together, to entice
Squeamish tastes, at any price.
Some their hunger ill conceal,
Bent upon a solid meal.
Others carelessly discuss
Early peas or 'sparagus:
'Sparagus, which, passion-stricken
For the young and tender chicken,
And, by pitying knife set free
From the fields of Battersea,
Crowd, in hundreds, to be near
What they love so fondly, here.
Bent upon a solid meal.
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Early peas or 'sparagus:
'Sparagus, which, passion-stricken
For the young and tender chicken,
And, by pitying knife set free
From the fields of Battersea,
Crowd, in hundreds, to be near
What they love so fondly, here.
Some, to slake their glass of sherry,
Dally with the hot-house cherry;
Some at strawberries take their fling,
Which the stout-built wenches bring,
While their arms in cadence swing;
While, with firm yet cautious tread,
Nicely balanced on her head
Each conveys her fragrant load
Safe along the Brentford-road.
Dally with the hot-house cherry;
Some at strawberries take their fling,
Which the stout-built wenches bring,
While their arms in cadence swing;
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Nicely balanced on her head
Each conveys her fragrant load
Safe along the Brentford-road.
Scarcely could the gourmand wish,
Or imagine any dish,
But 'twas here, at the command
Of his eager eyes and hand.
While Champagne, in close array,
Pride of Rheims and Epernay,
Not in bottles, but in dozens,
(Think of that, ye country-cousins!)
Stood, of every growth and price,
“Peeping forth” its tubs of ice.
Or imagine any dish,
But 'twas here, at the command
Of his eager eyes and hand.
While Champagne, in close array,
Pride of Rheims and Epernay,
Not in bottles, but in dozens,
(Think of that, ye country-cousins!)
Stood, of every growth and price,
“Peeping forth” its tubs of ice.
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Hungering now no more, nor thirsting,
See them with impatience bursting!
Now to business from repose
Briskly every creature goes.
Play, with magnet-like attraction,
Bids them all prepare for action.
Play alone can pleasure give;
Only while they play, they live.
Each who is not at his post
Thinks a dozen throws are lost,
And, in fancy, thumps, while able,
Heavily the absent table.
See them with impatience bursting!
Now to business from repose
Briskly every creature goes.
Play, with magnet-like attraction,
Bids them all prepare for action.
Play alone can pleasure give;
Only while they play, they live.
Each who is not at his post
Thinks a dozen throws are lost,
And, in fancy, thumps, while able,
Heavily the absent table.
Follow to the room adjoining;
Now begins the work of coining.
“Now,” says Crockford, “ye who hanker
After gain, behold your banker!
Draw upon me, every man,
Freely draw for what you—can.
You must suffer me, 'tis true,
Now and then to draw on you;
Yet so soft shall be my pull
On your purse, when over-full,
Still so gentle shall you find it,
Ten to one you'll never mind it.”
Now begins the work of coining.
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After gain, behold your banker!
Draw upon me, every man,
Freely draw for what you—can.
You must suffer me, 'tis true,
Now and then to draw on you;
Yet so soft shall be my pull
On your purse, when over-full,
Still so gentle shall you find it,
Ten to one you'll never mind it.”
Thus—as Eastern stories go,
In Ceylōn or Borneo,
Isles beneath the tropic breeze,
Sparkling o'er the Indian seas,
Or, what suits the likeness most,
On the Gold and Ivory-Coast,
Which, as Slavery's annals tell,
Is th' epitome of Hell,
Thus the Vampire, giant-bat,
When, perchance, he finds a flat,
One who on his back reposes,
And is fast asleep, or dozes,
O'er the victim gently bending,
And each monstrous wing extending,
To secure his favorite food,
Fans him—while he sucks his blood.
In Ceylōn or Borneo,
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Sparkling o'er the Indian seas,
Or, what suits the likeness most,
On the Gold and Ivory-Coast,
Which, as Slavery's annals tell,
Is th' epitome of Hell,
Thus the Vampire, giant-bat,
When, perchance, he finds a flat,
One who on his back reposes,
And is fast asleep, or dozes,
O'er the victim gently bending,
And each monstrous wing extending,
To secure his favorite food,
Fans him—while he sucks his blood.
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See where light from over-head
In one steady blaze is spread
On the soft and cheerful green
Of the table where they lean!
Think not Nature has the start,
Here, or any where, of Art.
No.—Let bards, and welcome, sing
Green, the livery of Spring;
Here 'tis far more bright and gay,
As the livery of Play.
In one steady blaze is spread
On the soft and cheerful green
Of the table where they lean!
Think not Nature has the start,
Here, or any where, of Art.
No.—Let bards, and welcome, sing
Green, the livery of Spring;
Here 'tis far more bright and gay,
As the livery of Play.
What is garden, grove, or mead,
To yon oval board, o'erspread
With its smooth and spotless cloth,
Where (to tell their names I'm loth)
Commoners, and not a few peers,
Hover round yon pair of Croupiers,
Who, all primness and decorum,
Heaps of counters piled before 'em,
Sit, with loins each night grown weaker,
Sit—like Theseus, or the Speaker.
To yon oval board, o'erspread
With its smooth and spotless cloth,
Where (to tell their names I'm loth)
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Hover round yon pair of Croupiers,
Who, all primness and decorum,
Heaps of counters piled before 'em,
Sit, with loins each night grown weaker,
Sit—like Theseus, or the Speaker.
Nor suppose that, partial grown,
They are charmed with green alone;
That no form or shape is able
To attract them, but the table.
No,—believe me, wondering Muse,
Here are other shapes and hues,
Which with extacy they boast of,
And delight to make the most of.
They are charmed with green alone;
That no form or shape is able
To attract them, but the table.
No,—believe me, wondering Muse,
Here are other shapes and hues,
Which with extacy they boast of,
And delight to make the most of.
23
Ne'er has ivory neck or shoulder
So enchanted the beholder,
When, perchance, the parted robe
Half betrays each rising globe,
As the ivory cubes that lie
Paired beneath the punter's eye,
Cubes in matchless beauty drest,
Or in motion, or at rest:
Ne'er was any “mole, cinque-spotted,”
Like the cinques upon them dotted.
So enchanted the beholder,
When, perchance, the parted robe
Half betrays each rising globe,
As the ivory cubes that lie
Paired beneath the punter's eye,
Cubes in matchless beauty drest,
Or in motion, or at rest:
Ne'er was any “mole, cinque-spotted,”
Like the cinques upon them dotted.
Talk of Woman's red and white!
Can they minister delight
Like the counters in our view,
Glowing with the self-same hue,
Or which, o'er the verdant plain,
As the nick succeeds the main,
Clad in every colour, pass
Like a rainbow over grass.
Can they minister delight
Like the counters in our view,
Glowing with the self-same hue,
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As the nick succeeds the main,
Clad in every colour, pass
Like a rainbow over grass.
Tell me—(but you scorn to tell, Beaus,)
Wherefore, when you shake your elbows,
Or with confidence and pluck,
Or despairing of your luck,
By such various paths you press
To the wished-for goal, success?—
Mark the timid and the brave.
These how lively! Those how grave!
Some in silence lose or win,
Others deal in noise and din.
One the table loudly knocks,
Rattling well Pandora's box,
As a dose, before 'tis taken,
Long and lustily is shaken.
T' other, by the best advice,
Slowly dribbles out the dice.
Wherefore, when you shake your elbows,
Or with confidence and pluck,
Or despairing of your luck,
By such various paths you press
To the wished-for goal, success?—
Mark the timid and the brave.
These how lively! Those how grave!
Some in silence lose or win,
Others deal in noise and din.
25
Rattling well Pandora's box,
As a dose, before 'tis taken,
Long and lustily is shaken.
T' other, by the best advice,
Slowly dribbles out the dice.
Then, how strange a coalition
Fancy forms with Superstition!
When for nine or ten they strive,
When they aim at four or five,
Each adopts a different throw;—
Hard for high, and soft for low.
Voting every one a fool
Who neglects so plain a rule!
Fancy forms with Superstition!
When for nine or ten they strive,
When they aim at four or five,
Each adopts a different throw;—
Hard for high, and soft for low.
Voting every one a fool
Who neglects so plain a rule!
26
Be it, wise ones, as you will.
Chance is sovereign here, not skill.
No design have I to quiz,
But, beyond all question, 'tis
Six of one, and six's brother
Half a dozen of the other.
For while all, devoted to her,
Soberly or briskly woo her,
Fortune deems not either mood,
In itself, or bad or good.
Hoodwinked she, and much a rover,
Yields in turn to every lover,
Poor or wealthy, great or small,—
And, in turn, rejects them all.
Chance is sovereign here, not skill.
No design have I to quiz,
But, beyond all question, 'tis
Six of one, and six's brother
Half a dozen of the other.
For while all, devoted to her,
Soberly or briskly woo her,
Fortune deems not either mood,
In itself, or bad or good.
Hoodwinked she, and much a rover,
Yields in turn to every lover,
Poor or wealthy, great or small,—
And, in turn, rejects them all.
27
See! the wayward Goddess nods!
Nicks and mains, and bets and odds,
Swell and shrink full many a hoard
On the wonder-working board,
While the ivory tokens fly
Swift as weaver's shuttle, by,
Pushed or gathered, as they go,
By the Croupier's brisk rateau.
Nicks and mains, and bets and odds,
Swell and shrink full many a hoard
On the wonder-working board,
While the ivory tokens fly
Swift as weaver's shuttle, by,
Pushed or gathered, as they go,
By the Croupier's brisk rateau.
Precious Ivory! Those who win
Deem thee fairer than the skin
Mantling o'er the face and breast
Of the blonde they love the best.
Thee with rapture they behold,
Darling deputy of gold,
Which, to make the system sure,
Here, enjoys a sinecure.
But the hapless wight who loses
Every praise to thee refuses.
If there's any thing, in sooth,
Sharper than a serpent's tooth,
'Tis, the loser freely grants,
'Tis, alas! the elephant's.
Deem thee fairer than the skin
Mantling o'er the face and breast
Of the blonde they love the best.
Thee with rapture they behold,
Darling deputy of gold,
28
Here, enjoys a sinecure.
But the hapless wight who loses
Every praise to thee refuses.
If there's any thing, in sooth,
Sharper than a serpent's tooth,
'Tis, the loser freely grants,
'Tis, alas! the elephant's.
Few indeed recover quite
From the symptoms of that bite.
First they're seized with consol-selling,
Judgment-signing, timber-felling.
Then, as heightens the disease,
Mortgages, annuities,
And, what passes all endurance,
Heavy, merciless insurance,
Crush with overwhelming weight
Mind, and body, and estate.
Skilful men, when these come on,
Deem the patient nearly gone.
Jews and Gentiles give him over;
So, since here he can't recover,
Off he slyly slips to Dover,
Takes to steam, nor feels he rallies
Till he's on the pier at Calais.
From the symptoms of that bite.
First they're seized with consol-selling,
Judgment-signing, timber-felling.
Then, as heightens the disease,
Mortgages, annuities,
29
Heavy, merciless insurance,
Crush with overwhelming weight
Mind, and body, and estate.
Skilful men, when these come on,
Deem the patient nearly gone.
Jews and Gentiles give him over;
So, since here he can't recover,
Off he slyly slips to Dover,
Takes to steam, nor feels he rallies
Till he's on the pier at Calais.
Muse, enough.—To dwell 'twere folly
On a scene so melancholy.
Though, to hear and see what's shocking,
Crowds on crowds are always flocking,
Such catastrophes, 'tis certain,
Should be kept behind the curtain;
Though they happen, now and then,
And, by hazard, may again.
On a scene so melancholy.
30
Crowds on crowds are always flocking,
Such catastrophes, 'tis certain,
Should be kept behind the curtain;
Though they happen, now and then,
And, by hazard, may again.
See, apart where Crockford sits,
Or parades the room by fits,
Calmly, steadily surveying
All the ups and downs of playing!
Reckless of the raging battle,
Reckless how the dice may rattle,
Who is throwing out, or in,
Who may lose or who may win,
Whether they have blanks or prizes,
All he equally excises.
“What has he with loss to do?
Sons of Play, 'twas made for you.”
Or parades the room by fits,
Calmly, steadily surveying
All the ups and downs of playing!
Reckless of the raging battle,
Reckless how the dice may rattle,
Who is throwing out, or in,
Who may lose or who may win,
31
All he equally excises.
“What has he with loss to do?
Sons of Play, 'twas made for you.”
As, when, by repletion bred,
Blood determines to the head,
And the patient, night and day,
Dreads a fatal plethora,
Surgeons, with a ready lancet,
On his legs again the man set;
So, when money, like a rocket,
Briskly rises in the pocket,
Threatening ills like this or worse,
From an overflowing purse,
Crockford comes with gentle pull.—
Lo! it is no longer full.
All superfluous gold and paper
Quickly vanishing like vapour,
Drains the sources of expense
Down to modest competence.
Blood determines to the head,
And the patient, night and day,
Dreads a fatal plethora,
Surgeons, with a ready lancet,
On his legs again the man set;
So, when money, like a rocket,
Briskly rises in the pocket,
Threatening ills like this or worse,
From an overflowing purse,
32
Lo! it is no longer full.
All superfluous gold and paper
Quickly vanishing like vapour,
Drains the sources of expense
Down to modest competence.
Easy and of short duration,
Mostly, is this operation,
And if subjects young and strong
Sometimes find it sharp and long,
Let them reckon up the scrapes
He who suffers it escapes!
All the evils which oppress
Wealthy men from wealth's excess;
All the petty plagues that fret,
All the dangers that beset,
All the tempters that importune
Wretches—with too large a fortune!
Mostly, is this operation,
And if subjects young and strong
Sometimes find it sharp and long,
Let them reckon up the scrapes
He who suffers it escapes!
All the evils which oppress
Wealthy men from wealth's excess;
33
All the dangers that beset,
All the tempters that importune
Wretches—with too large a fortune!
Nibbling, nibbling by degrees,
Like a rat that gnaws a cheese,
Like a child whose grinders make
Inroads round a sugared cake,
He, whatever the event,
Rests “in measureless content.”
Can you in his conscious face
Fail the mighty Lord to trace
Of the magic Deuce and Ace?
All his loss that throw retrieves;
If 'tis for him, he receives;
If against him, never pays;
Such are Crockford's means and ways.
Thus his victims bear the' infliction
Of another Bank-restriction.
Thus he weaves the nightly spell
Which controls the depths of Hell!
Like a rat that gnaws a cheese,
Like a child whose grinders make
Inroads round a sugared cake,
He, whatever the event,
Rests “in measureless content.”
Can you in his conscious face
Fail the mighty Lord to trace
Of the magic Deuce and Ace?
34
If 'tis for him, he receives;
If against him, never pays;
Such are Crockford's means and ways.
Thus his victims bear the' infliction
Of another Bank-restriction.
Thus he weaves the nightly spell
Which controls the depths of Hell!
Should you, with a view to fence
'Gainst its fatal influence
And to parry the disaster,
Have a mind to back the caster,
Plain, unerring calculation
Bids you dread a worse vexation,
Since Demoivre neatly shews
That, whene'er a caster throws,
For that hopeful chance to win, he
Parts with fourpence in a guinea!
'Gainst its fatal influence
And to parry the disaster,
Have a mind to back the caster,
Plain, unerring calculation
Bids you dread a worse vexation,
35
That, whene'er a caster throws,
For that hopeful chance to win, he
Parts with fourpence in a guinea!
Thus the punter (though I must rate
Those but lazy who illustrate
Aught by metaphors so cribbed) is
Caught 'twixt Scylla and Charybdis.
Cased in armour, cap-a-pié,
Thus, whate'er the' attack may be,
Crockford may defy the table.
Thus, he is invulnerable.
Ev'n if (as Achilles' heel
Fated was, at last, to feel)
He should suffer from a wound,
Far from mortal, 'twould be found
But a wholesome loss of blood,
For his constitution's good.
Those but lazy who illustrate
Aught by metaphors so cribbed) is
Caught 'twixt Scylla and Charybdis.
Cased in armour, cap-a-pié,
Thus, whate'er the' attack may be,
Crockford may defy the table.
Thus, he is invulnerable.
Ev'n if (as Achilles' heel
Fated was, at last, to feel)
36
Far from mortal, 'twould be found
But a wholesome loss of blood,
For his constitution's good.
Thus, when fickle Fortune fancies
To decide against the chances,
And there's, now and then, a run
On his bank, the more the fun.
All the backward, now grown brisk,
Little care what stakes they risk;
Those who never played before
Venture much, and gamblers more.
So insurers, oft in doubt
How to feel when fires break out,
Grudge not paying houseless men
For their losses, now and then,
Who, thus frightened, think it wise
To renew their policies;
While the uninsured, by scores,
Cluster round the office-doors.
To decide against the chances,
And there's, now and then, a run
On his bank, the more the fun.
All the backward, now grown brisk,
Little care what stakes they risk;
Those who never played before
Venture much, and gamblers more.
So insurers, oft in doubt
How to feel when fires break out,
37
For their losses, now and then,
Who, thus frightened, think it wise
To renew their policies;
While the uninsured, by scores,
Cluster round the office-doors.
But, with envy while we view him,
Let us own, in justice to him,
That, whate'er may be his profit,
Crockford makes no secret of it.
Every customer allows it;
He to all the world avows it;
Be it much or little, so 'tis;
All are purchasers on notice.
Idle sorrow, vain repenting,
When the victims are consenting,
Who, inflamed, excited thus,
By their darling stimulus,
Paying, to their heart's content,
Little more than two per cent,
Never grudge the price a tittle,
Wondering how it costs so little!
Let us own, in justice to him,
That, whate'er may be his profit,
Crockford makes no secret of it.
Every customer allows it;
He to all the world avows it;
Be it much or little, so 'tis;
All are purchasers on notice.
38
When the victims are consenting,
Who, inflamed, excited thus,
By their darling stimulus,
Paying, to their heart's content,
Little more than two per cent,
Never grudge the price a tittle,
Wondering how it costs so little!
But as Man was never meant
(So 't would seem) to be content;
As some void within the breast
Still left aching, murders rest;
Crockford, prospering thus, and grown
Tired of letting well alone,
Scorns his former fair condition,
Mastered by that mad ambition
Which though groveling souls abuse,
Kindred spirits must excuse;
Since the noblest minds agree
In that last infirmity.
(So 't would seem) to be content;
As some void within the breast
Still left aching, murders rest;
Crockford, prospering thus, and grown
Tired of letting well alone,
39
Mastered by that mad ambition
Which though groveling souls abuse,
Kindred spirits must excuse;
Since the noblest minds agree
In that last infirmity.
Now, his pride disdains the scene
Of his past success, as mean.
“Many were its charms, 'tis granted;
But, when elbow-room is wanted,
Premises so small are hateful.”—
Thus it is, when Man's ungrateful!
Of his past success, as mean.
“Many were its charms, 'tis granted;
But, when elbow-room is wanted,
Premises so small are hateful.”—
Thus it is, when Man's ungrateful!
40
Houses twain suffice no more.
No,—he must and will have four;
And, precisely as those gay things,
Petted children, treat their play-things,
In his hurry to enjoy them,
Grown impatient to destroy them,
Has a crotchet in his head,
To adorn yon gulf, 'tis said,
With a Palace in their stead!
No,—he must and will have four;
And, precisely as those gay things,
Petted children, treat their play-things,
In his hurry to enjoy them,
Grown impatient to destroy them,
Has a crotchet in his head,
To adorn yon gulf, 'tis said,
With a Palace in their stead!
From the gains of many seasons,
Thus, misguided man, he reasons.—
“Say that, of a given size,
Houses yield a given prize,
Make them twice as big—I touch
(Witness Cocker) twice as much.”
Thus, misguided man, he reasons.—
“Say that, of a given size,
Houses yield a given prize,
41
(Witness Cocker) twice as much.”
But, when premises are hollow,
False conclusions ever follow.
Oft such arguments conceal
Guns with springs, and traps of steel.
Though 'tis strange to find a trick
Lurking in arithmetic,
Strange, that fallacies should be
Even in the rule-of-three,
Oft, 'tis clearer than the Sun,
Two and two make—only one!
Truth concealed from ages past,
Scarce revealed to ours, at last.
False conclusions ever follow.
Oft such arguments conceal
Guns with springs, and traps of steel.
Though 'tis strange to find a trick
Lurking in arithmetic,
Strange, that fallacies should be
Even in the rule-of-three,
Oft, 'tis clearer than the Sun,
Two and two make—only one!
Truth concealed from ages past,
Scarce revealed to ours, at last.
42
But 'tis time to be unyoking.
See the horses' collars smoking!
You, the humble pair who spurn,
Used to “first and second turn,”
Who, as on with four you rattle,
Vote that mine are sorry cattle,
Know I'm loth to overrate them;
But, if here allowed to bait them,
They shall travel, I'll engage,
Lame or not, another stage.
See the horses' collars smoking!
You, the humble pair who spurn,
Used to “first and second turn,”
Who, as on with four you rattle,
Vote that mine are sorry cattle,
Know I'm loth to overrate them;
But, if here allowed to bait them,
They shall travel, I'll engage,
Lame or not, another stage.
Reader, shall their strength be tried?
Will you, metaphor aside,
If, perchance, you have not guessed
What's to follow, learn the rest?
Will you hear the' unfinished story
Of aspiring Crockford's glory?
Ere my hand the veil withdraws
Let me but a moment pause,
And, recruited, I'm the man to
Tell it, in another Canto.
Will you, metaphor aside,
If, perchance, you have not guessed
What's to follow, learn the rest?
43
Of aspiring Crockford's glory?
Ere my hand the veil withdraws
Let me but a moment pause,
And, recruited, I'm the man to
Tell it, in another Canto.
| Crockford-House, A Rhapsody | |