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Poem by William Harrison Ainsworth


The Modern Greek


     (Not translated from the Romale.)

Come, gemmen, name, and make your game, 
	See round the ball is spinning, 
Black, red, or blue, the colors view,
	Une, deux, cinque, ’tis  beginning, 
			Then make your game,
			The color name, 
		While round the ball is spinning. 
 	
This sleight of hand my flat shall land
	While covered by my bonnet1,
I plant my ball, and boldly call,
	Come make your game upon it!
			Thus rat-a-tat! 
			I land my flat!
		’Tis black – not red – is winning.
 	
At gay roulette was never met
	A lance like mine for bleeding!
I’m ne’er at fault, at nothing halt,
	All other legs preceding. 
			To all awake, 
			I never shake
 		A mag2 unless I nip it.
 	
Blind-hookey sees how well I squeeze 
	The well-packed cards in shuffling. 
Ecarté, whist, I never missed, 
	A nick the broads3 while ruffling. 
			Mogul or loo, 
			The same I do,
		I am down to trumps as trippett!
 	
French hazard ta’en, I nick the main,
	Was ne’er so prime a caster.
No crabs for me, I'm fly, d’ye see;
	The. bank shall change its master. 
			Seven quatre, trois,
			The stakes are high! 
		Ten mains! ten mains are mine, pals!
 	
At Rouge et Noir, you hellite4 choir
	I’ll make no bones of stripping;
One glorious coup for me shall do,
	While they may deal each pip in.
			Trente-un-après
			Ne’er clogs my way;
		The game – the game’s divine, pals.
 	
At billiards set, I make my bet,
	I’ll score and win the rub, pals;
I miss my cue, my hazard, too,
	But yet my foe I’ll drub, pals.
			That cannon-twist,
			I ne’er had missed,
		Unless to suit my views, pals.
 	
To make all right, the match look tight,
	This trick, you know, is done, pals;
But now be gay, I’ll show my play –
	Hurrah! the game is won, pals.
			No hand so fine,
			No wrist like mine,
		No odds I e’er refuse, pals.
 	
Then choose your game; whate’er you name,
	To me alike all offers;
Chic-hazard, whist, whate’er you list,
	Replenish quick your coffers.
			Thus, rat-a-tat!
			I land my flat!
		To every purse I speak, pals.
 	
Cramped boxes ’ware, all’s right and fair,
	Barred balls I bar when goaded;
The deuce an ace is out of place!
	The deuce a die is leaded!
			Then make your game,
			Your color name;
		Success attend the Greek, pals.

1. Accomplice. - Ainsworth.
2. A farthing. - Ainsworth.
3. Cards. - Ainsworth.
4. Qy. Elite. - PRINTER’S DEVIL. - Ainsworth.



William Harrison Ainsworth


William Harrison Ainsworth's other poems:
  1. One Foot in the Stirrup, or Turpin's First Fling
  2. The Game of High Toby
  3. The Legend of Valdez
  4. The Soul-Bell
  5. The Old Water-Drinker’s Grave


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