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THE GAMESTER. |
193 |
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But watch'd so closely, he could not play booty, Yet to cheat he fain would, for Greorge—'twas his duty; A great bet depending on that single game; Dominion and honor—destruction and shame.
Examin'd with care his most critical hand,
At a loss, if better to beg or to stand,
His tricks reckon'd up; for all sharpers can jangle;
Then kick'd up a dust, for his favorite wrangle.
'Twas diamond cut diamond, spades were of no use, But to dig up the way for surrender and truce; For he dreaded the hand that dealt out such thumps; As the hearts were run out, and clubs were then trumps.
Thus he met with the rubbers, as the game it turn'd out, Poor Jack, although beat, made a damnable rout, Complain'd he was cheated,1 and pompously talks; Quit the game with a curse, while he rubb'd out the chalks.
But see a cloud burst, and a seraph appears,
Loud trumpeting peace, while in blood to their ears,
With bulls and with pardons for us on submission \
To bull us, and gull us, by their sham commission. 9 |
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