378 THE QUORN HUNT 



Then my tradesmen all around my door most obstinately clung ; 

 And their eyes on all my motions with a mute observance hung. 



So I said, " My faithful tailor, do a bit of stiff for me ; 



Trust me yet ; my Uncle's shaky, all his coin shall flow to thee." 



O'er his greasy cheek and forehead rushed a colour and a light, 

 As I've seen the quick lamplighter turning on the gas at night. 



And he said, " I'm proud to serve thee, Sir, as any gent in town ; 

 If so shaky be thine Uncle thou shalt have the money down." 



Credit seized the glass of time, and dribbled out the golden sand ; 

 .Every day became more valueless my frequent notes of hand. 



Many a morning have I waited, with my hopes upon the rack, 

 For the long-expected postman with the letter edged with black. 



Health revived my hardy Uncle, now, alas ! he coughs no more, 

 And the day of his decease seems more distant than before. 



Oh, my tailor shallow-hearted ; oh, my tailor — mine no more ; 



Oh, the dreary, dreary Bond Street ; oh, that Strand's unhappy shore ! 



I could practise, oh ! how gladly, in the fulness of my hate, 

 All the Slasher's last instructions on thine ugly dial plate. 



Is it well to use me thus, Sir, having known me, to decline 

 Any further cash advances with security like mine ? 



But it may be ! thou shalt lower, to the level of a dun, 

 Seeking custom with acrostics, like the Moseses and Son. 



As the tradesmen, so the customer, and thou shalt measure clowns ; 

 They shall pay thee for thy corduroys in ignominious browns. 



I would use thee, if my passion might expend its real force, 

 Little better than my dog, and something worser than my horse. 



What is that which I can turn to? Can a gentleman descend 

 To dig the very gold which nature had intended him to spend ? 



I had been content to perish on the sandy Sussex shore, 

 Where Militia-men are marshall'd and Minie rifles roar. 



But the gentle voice of Cobden drowns the fierce invader's drum ; 

 And Napoleon does but bluster, and Frenchmen funk to come. 



Could I but relieve in fancy ? But recall the past again ? 



Canst thou ease my wild emotions, oh thou wonderful champagne ? 



Give me back the quick pulsations I have often felt before, 

 When my horse was on before me, and my hack was at the door. 



