Nay, thick as plagues of Egypt swarm
These emblems of the devil's charm,
When the fall'n angel works a harm
To Eve's demented brood;

Worse than of famish'd shark the maw,
Worse than snake's tooth, or tiger's claw,
The gambler's fish{7} spits from its maw
Hell's poison-filled food!

But, halt! Who're they so deep in port,
Who jostle thus the dons of sport,
With all th' assumed airs of court,
From which indeed they are?

But not from court of Carlton,
Nor James's Court, nor any one;
But where "the fancy" used to run
To see the creatures spar.

The one's a diamond, that you see,
But yet a black one I agree,
And in the way of chancery
A smart Ward in his time;

The other he's from Vinsor down,
And though a great gun in that town,
Has lately been quite basted brown,
And gone off--out of time.{8}

7 The spotted ball now, worse in its woe-causing than the
apple of Ida, is disgorged from a splendidly gilded fish.
What a pity it is that the eternal vociforators of "red
wins, black loses," et vice versa, could not be turned into
Jonahs, and their odd fish into a whale, and let all be cast
into the troubled waters (without a three days' redemption)
they brew for others!

8 "There never were such times." X Xs, in the ring, and
failures in the Fives Court, overcome us now without our
special wonder; for boxers are become betters to extents
that would make the fathers of the P.R. bless themselves and
bolt. Cannon and Ward were, however, both on the right side,
and the nods with which they honoured their old acquaintance
were certainly improvements upon the style of the academy
for manners in Saint Martin's Street.

~276~~

Look, here's a bevy; who but they!
Just come to make the poor Tykes pay
The charge of post-horses and chay,
That brought them to some tune;

Lo! Piccadilly Goodered laughs,
As when some novice, reeling, quaffs
His gooseberry wine in tipsy draughts,
At his so pure saloon.{9}

Good gracious, too! (oh, what a trade
Can oyster sales at night be made!)
Here swallowing wine,