 | Poems |  |
93
The LOTTERY.
Inscribed to Miss H---.
Cawthorn had once a mind to fix
His carcase in a coach and six,
And live, if his estate wou'd bear it,
On turtle, ortolans, and claret:
For this he went, at fortune's call,
To wait upon her at Guildhall;
That is, like many other thick wits,
He bought a score of Lottery Tickets,
And saw them rise in dreadful ranks
Converted to a score of blanks.
His carcase in a coach and six,
And live, if his estate wou'd bear it,
On turtle, ortolans, and claret:
For this he went, at fortune's call,
To wait upon her at Guildhall;
That is, like many other thick wits,
He bought a score of Lottery Tickets,
And saw them rise in dreadful ranks
Converted to a score of blanks.
Amaz'd, and vex'd to find his scheme
Delusive as a midnight dream,
He curs'd the goddess o'er and o'er,
Call'd her a mercenary whore,
Swore that her dull capricious sense
Was always dup'd by impudence,
That men of wit were but her tools,
And all her favours were for fools.
Delusive as a midnight dream,
He curs'd the goddess o'er and o'er,
Call'd her a mercenary whore,
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Was always dup'd by impudence,
That men of wit were but her tools,
And all her favours were for fools.
He said, and, with an angry gripe,
Snatch'd up his speculative pipe;
And, that he might his grief allay,
Read half a page in Seneca.
Snatch'd up his speculative pipe;
And, that he might his grief allay,
Read half a page in Seneca.
When, lo! a phantom, tall, and thin,
Knock'd at the door, and enter'd in:
She wore a partycolour'd robe,
And seem'd to tread upon a globe—
Whisk'd round the room with haughty air,
And toss'd into an elbow chair.
Then, with a bold terrific look,
Which made the doctor drop his book,
Address'd him thus, “Thou wicked varlet!
Art not asham'd to call me harlot?
Why, what's thy consequence and parts,
Thy skill in letters, or in arts,
That I, poor Fortune! must be lectur'd,
Kick'd, bully'd, curs'd, abus'd, and hector'd;
Because, forsooth,—A fever roast thee,—
Thou'rt not so wealthy as Da Costa?
Knock'd at the door, and enter'd in:
She wore a partycolour'd robe,
And seem'd to tread upon a globe—
Whisk'd round the room with haughty air,
And toss'd into an elbow chair.
Then, with a bold terrific look,
Which made the doctor drop his book,
Address'd him thus, “Thou wicked varlet!
Art not asham'd to call me harlot?
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Thy skill in letters, or in arts,
That I, poor Fortune! must be lectur'd,
Kick'd, bully'd, curs'd, abus'd, and hector'd;
Because, forsooth,—A fever roast thee,—
Thou'rt not so wealthy as Da Costa?
However, as thou hast some virtues,
And know'st my fav'rite Tom Curteis,
I'll point thee out a way to be
Almost as rich a man as he.
And know'st my fav'rite Tom Curteis,
I'll point thee out a way to be
Almost as rich a man as he.
Send to the bank this day and buy
Ten Tickets in the Lottery;
And bid your honest friend, the broker,
Endorse the name of M--- H---;
The sacred numbers then consign
Devoutly to the fair one's shrine:
That is, in humbler rhetoric,
Present them by your footman Dick,
And tell her, in a billet-doux,
“My dear these Tickets are for you,
“An offering from an heart that's split
“Asunder by your sense and wit,
“Yet has the grace, to tell you true,
“To keep its own dear ends in view,
“And therefore hopes you'll not forget
“To give me half of what you get.”
Ten Tickets in the Lottery;
And bid your honest friend, the broker,
Endorse the name of M--- H---;
The sacred numbers then consign
Devoutly to the fair one's shrine:
That is, in humbler rhetoric,
Present them by your footman Dick,
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“My dear these Tickets are for you,
“An offering from an heart that's split
“Asunder by your sense and wit,
“Yet has the grace, to tell you true,
“To keep its own dear ends in view,
“And therefore hopes you'll not forget
“To give me half of what you get.”
My life on't Jemmy thou'lt be great—
Five thousand pounds!—a good estate:
For be assured that, tho' the poets,
The small philosophers, and no-wits,
Pretend that i'm to worth unkind,
And impudently paint me blind,
I yet can see thy charmer's merit,
Her taste, her dignity, and spirit;
Have often listen'd to her song,
And stole persuasion from her tongue:
And am resolv'd, tho' all the shrews,
Stock-jobbers, brokers, pimps, and jews,
Frown, curse, expostulate, and rally,
With all the tongues of all the Alley,
To give her, out of love and zeal,
The richest number in the wheel.”
Five thousand pounds!—a good estate:
For be assured that, tho' the poets,
The small philosophers, and no-wits,
Pretend that i'm to worth unkind,
And impudently paint me blind,
I yet can see thy charmer's merit,
Her taste, her dignity, and spirit;
Have often listen'd to her song,
And stole persuasion from her tongue:
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Stock-jobbers, brokers, pimps, and jews,
Frown, curse, expostulate, and rally,
With all the tongues of all the Alley,
To give her, out of love and zeal,
The richest number in the wheel.”
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