Letter in Prose and Verse to Mrs. Bunbury

First let me suppose, what may shortly be true,
The company set, and the word to be, Loo;
All smirking, and pleasant, and big with adventure,
And ogling the stake which is fix’d in the centre.
Round and round go the cards, while I inwardly damn
At never once finding a visit from Pam.
I lay down my stake, apparently cool,
While the harpies about me all pocket the pool.
I fret in my gizzard, yet, cautious and sly,
I wish all my friends may be bolder than I:
Yet still they sit snug, not a creature will aim
By losing their money to venture at fame.
’Tis in vain that at niggardly caution I scold,
’Tis in vain that I flatter the brave and the bold:
All play their own way, and they think me an ass,—
‘What does Mrs. Bunbury?’ ‘I, Sir? I pass.’
‘Pray what does Miss Horneck? Take courage, come do,’—
‘Who, I? let me see, Sir, why I must pass too.’
Mr. Bunbury frets, and I fret like the devil,
To see them so cowardly, lucky, and civil.
Yet still I sit snug, and continue to sigh on,
Till made by my losses as bold as a lion,
I venture at all,—while my avarice regards
The whole pool as my own—‘Come, give me five cards.’
‘Well done!’ cry the ladies; ‘Ah, Doctor, that’s good!
The pool’s very rich—ah! the Doctor is loo’d!’
Thus foil’d in my courage, on all sides perplex’d,
I ask for advice from the lady that’s next:
‘Pray, Ma’am, be so good as to give your advice;
Don’t you think the best way is to venture for ’t twice?’
‘I advise,’ cries the lady, ‘to try it, I own.—
Ah! the Doctor is loo’d! Come, Doctor, put down.’
Thus, playing, and playing, I still grow more eager,
And so bold, and so bold, I’m at last a bold beggar.
Now, ladies, I ask, if law-matters you’re skill’d in,
Whether crimes such as yours should not come before Fielding?
For giving advice that is not worth a straw,
May well be call’d picking of pockets in law;
And picking of pockets, with which I now charge ye,
Is, by quinto Elizabeth, Death without Clergy.
What justice, when both to the Old Bailey brought!
By the gods, I’ll enjoy it; though ’tis but in thought!
Both are plac’d at the bar, with all proper decorum,
With bunches of fennel, and nosegays before ’em;
Both cover their faces with mobs and all that;
But the judge bids them, angrily, take off their hat.
When uncover’d, a buzz of enquiry runs round,—
‘Pray what are their crimes?’—‘They’ve been pilfering found.’
‘But, pray, whom have they pilfer’d?’—‘A Doctor, I hear.’
‘What, yon solemn-faced, odd-looking man that stands near!’
‘The same.’—‘What a pity! how does it surprise one!
Two handsomer culprits I never set eyes on!’
Then their friends all come round me with cringing and leering,
To melt me to pity, and soften my swearing.
First Sir Charles advances with phrases well strung,
‘Consider, dear Doctor, the girls are but young.’
‘The younger the worse,’ I return him again,
‘It shows that their habits are all dyed in grain.’
‘But then they’re so handsome, one’s bosom it grieves.’
‘What signifies handsome, when people are thieves?’
‘But where is your justice? their cases are hard.’
‘What signifies justice? I want the reward.

‘But consider their case,—it may yet be your own!
And see how they kneel! Is your heart made of stone?’
This moves:—so at last I agree to relent,
For ten pounds in hand, and ten pounds to be spent.