Classic Poem

" THE great, th' important hour is come, "
O hope! thou wily nurse!
I see bad luck behind thy back,
Dark brooding deep remorse.

No fancied muse will I invoke,
To grace my humble strain,
But sing my song in homely phrase,
Inspir'd by what I've seen.

Here comes a feeder with his charge,
'Mong friends 'tis whisper'd straight,
How long he swung him on a string,
To bring him to his weight.

The carpet's laid — Pit-money drawn —
All's high with expectation;
With birds bereft of nature's garb,
The handlers take their station.

What roaring, betting, bawling, swearing,
Now assail the ear!
" Three pound! — four pound, on Ph-ll-p's cock! "
" Done! — Done, by G-d, Sir! — here! "

Now cast a serious eye around —
Behold the motley group,
All gamblers, swindlers, ragamuffins,
Votaries of the stoup.

But why of it thus lightly speak?
The poor man's ae best friend —
When Fortune's sky lowers dark and grim,
It clears the drumly scene.

Here sits a wretch with meagre face,
And sullen, drowsy eye;
Nor speaks he much — last night, at cards,
A gamester drain'd him dry.

Here bawls another vent'rous soul,
Who risks his every farthing;
What d-l's the matter, though at home
His wife and brats are starving.

See here's a father 'gainst a son,
A brother 'gainst a brother,
Who, e'en with mair than common spite,
Bark hard at one another.

But see yon fellow all in black,
His looks speak inward joy;
Mad happy since his father's death,
Sporting his legacy.

And, mark — that aged debauchee,
With red bepimpled face —
He fain would bet a crown or two,
But purse is not in case.

But hark! — what cry, — " He's run! he's run! " —
And loud huzzas take place —
Now mark, what deep dejection sits
On every loser's face.

Observe the OWNER — frantic man!
With imprecations dread,
He grasps his vanquish'd Idol-god,
And twirls off his head.

But, bliss attend their feeling souls,
Wha nae sic deeds delight in!
Brutes are but brutes, let men be men,
Nor pleasure in cock-fighting.