Life is but a Game of Cards.
Recited by The Winnetts.
Life if hut a game of cards,
Which each cue has to learn,
Each shuffles, cuts And deals a pack,
And each a trump doth turn.
Some turn a high card at the top.
While others turn a low;
Some hold a hand quite full of trumps,
While others none can show.
Some shuffle with a practiced hand.
And pack their cards with care;
So they may know when they are dealt,
Where all the leaders are;
Thus fools are made the dupes of rogue*,
And rogues each other cheat,
But he is very wise indeed,
Who never meets defeat.
In playing, some lead the ace,
Their counting card to save,
Some play the deuce and some the tray,
And many play the knave;
Some play for money And some for fun,
And more for Worldly fame,
And not until the game's played out,
Can they count up their gain.
When hearts are trumps we play for love,
Then pleasure decks the hour,
No thought of sorrow checks our joy,
In Rosy's beauteous bower;
We dance and sing, sweet music make,
Our cards at random play,
And while the heart remains on top,
Our game is but a holiday.
When diamonds chance to crown the top,
Then players stake their gold,
And heavy sums are won And lost,
By gamblers, young and old;
Intent on winning, each doth watch
His cards with eager eye,
So he may watch his neighbor's hand,
And cheat him on the sly.
When clubs are trumps, look out for war,
On ocean And on land,
For bloody deeds are often done
When clubs are in the hand;
Then lives are staked instead of gold.
The days are worn out bread,
Across the broad Atlantic now,
See clubs have got the lead.
And last of all is when the spade
Is turned by hand of time,
And always finishes up the game,
In every land and every clime;
No matter how much a man may win,
Or how much a man may save,
You'll find the spade turns up at last.
And digs the player's grave.