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ODE TO FORTUNE.
My morning lounge is Eastburn’s shop,
At Poppleton’s I take my lunch,
Niblo prepares my mutton-chop,
And Jennings51 makes my whiskey-punch.
When merry, I the hours amuse
By squibbing Bucktails, Guards, and Balls,
And when I’m troubled with the blues,
Damn Clinton and abuse canals:
Then, Fortune! since I ask no prize,
At least preserve me from thy frown!
The man who don’t attempt to rise,
’Twere cruelty to tumble down.
H. and D.
