Classic Poem

My Lord to find out who must deal
Delivers cards about,
But the first knave does seldom fail
To find the Doctor out.

But then his Honour cried, 'Gadzooks!'
And seemed to knit his brow;
For on a knave he never looks
But h'thinks upon Jack Howe.

My Lady though she is no player
Some bungling partner takes,
And wedged in corner of a chair
Takes snuff, and holds the stakes.

Dame Floyd looks out in grave suspense
For pair-royals and sequents;
But wisely cautious of her pence,
The castle seldom frequents.

Quoth Herries, fairly putting cases,
'I'd won it on my word,
If I had but a pair of aces,
And could pick up a third.'

But Weston has a new-cast gown
On Sundays to be fine in,
And if she can but win a crown,
'Twill just new dye the lining.

With these is Parson Swift,
Not knowing how to spend his time,
Does make a wretched shift,
To deafen 'em with puns and rhyme.